


the trials of mandalore

by ninefish



Series: if i stay here, trouble will find me [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death Watch (Star Wars), F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, anakin is the jedi who came to give hugs, cameos by all, everyone just cries a lot ok mental health is a process, everyone's redemption arc, family drama and for once it's not the skywalkers, horrifyingly and terrifyingly unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 71,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23282587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninefish/pseuds/ninefish
Summary: Frustrated and lost in the wake of the Battle of Naboo, Obi-Wan was sent to Mandalore where he must confront . . . well, a lot of things. They don’t exactly teach healthy coping mechanisms at the Temple.Satine didn’t sign up for this.As for Anakin? Mace Windu really didn’t sign up for this.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Mace Windu, Bo-Katan Kryze & Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Series: if i stay here, trouble will find me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719697
Comments: 172
Kudos: 457





	1. I: A TRIAL, GIVEN

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively should be called trials of the heart because this obitine plane is comin in hot
> 
> i've written some chapters in advance so weekly updates should be a thing until i catch up to where i am :)
> 
> edit: while planning this fic out, i intended the anakin and mace storyline to just be a subplot but it turned into its own beast. Therefore, let it be known the romantic rollercoaster will be regularly interrupted by kid!anakin shenanigans bc i love him and must fix every plot hole.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Obi-Wan deals with the Jedi Council, becomes a Knight, and develops latent big brother energy.

“A great ordeal, Padawan Kenobi, has been through,” Master Yoda announced. “Yet, overcome trials he has.” The Grand Master nodded to himself solemnly and the rest of the Council murmured assent.

Obi-Wan looked down as he nodded, resisting the urge to clench his fists. There was the overwhelming feeling of frustration— what right did the Council that had always belittled his Master, wayward as he was, to try to now assuage his wounds?

 _Patience_ , Qui-Gon would tell him. 

_Release your frustrations into the Force_ , the Council would tell him.

There was still the matter of his Master’s last request. It wouldn’t do to get kicked out of the Order now, Obi-Wan thought dryly.

“Troubled thoughts I sense still, yet preserved you have,” Yoda rumbled. “For this reason, young Skywalker is not to be trained the Council has decided.”

Obi-Wan felt like something in his chest was further splintering off, to join whatever else had been lost when Qui-Gon had passed.

“ _What?_ How can you say this? For what reason?” Obi-Wan demanded, unable to hold back the quiver in his voice. He was suddenly very glad he had told Anakin to stay outside while he met with the Council. He wasn’t sure his heart could take seeing the freed boy’s face crumble.

“Padawan Kenobi,” Windu said admonishingly, “young Skywalker is far too old. He is untrained and temperamental.”

“But he has extraordinary potential!” Obi-Wan pleaded, trying desperately to focus on the room. _He was in front of the council, not around the pit. His hands were empty, he was waving them, agitatedly— he wasn’t holding the limp form of his Master—_

“Master Qui-Gon believed in him and— and as do I.” Obi-Wan’s voice broke a bit even though he was far beyond the age of voice cracks. He was reminded of how the Council must see him as just that— _a child_.

The faces of the Councilmembers stared stonily down at him, Yoda’s in contemplation. “Discuss this matter further we shall.” He finally said, sighing, and for a moment, Obi-Wan thought the Grand Master looked weary.

“Because of this latest mission, the Council has unanimously decided that you have passed the Trials of Knighthood. Once you have been formally knighted, we will brief you on your next mission. You are dismissed,” Windu said, staring at Obi-Wan intently as if he expected him to stumble on formalities.

Funny how when Qui-Gon had been alive, it’d been the easiest thing in the world for Obi-Wan to criticize his Master, pointing out the Code. Now he felt as if the Council was boring into him with their own scrutiny.

Obi-Wan gave a wan half-smile and bowed. “Of course.”

* * *

Anakin bounded up to Obi-Wan in the palace courtyard, sweaty blond hair flopping dramatically. “Obi-Wan! How did your meeting go?”

Obi-Wan tried to pretend to match the young boy’s enthusiasm, but his face seemed to have given up. _I have failed you, young one._

Anakin picked up on his mood and immediately sobered, “did it not go well?”

Obi-Wan silently twisted his Padawan braid, wondering what it would be like to not have the accessory that had become so a part of him. “The Council is unsure if they will have you trained.”

As he predicted, Anakin’s face fell. The young boy desperately made as if his hopes and dreams weren’t being crushed.

Obi-Wan hesitated briefly and then sat down. He gestured for Anakin to follow suit. “Do you remember that feeling you had when you podraced?” The Council would say that this was a decidedly bad idea. At this moment, Obi-Wan really couldn’t give a damn what they thought.

“I want you to focus on that feeling, the flow of it. _That_ is the Force. If you want to become a Jedi, you must learn to release your sense of frustration and anger into it,” Obi-Wan explained. Anakin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to emulate Obi-Wan. After a few seconds, his face scrunched up and he let out a sigh.

“It’s impossible!” he cried out, flopping miserably to the grass.

Obi-Wan frowned, thinking. _Perhaps . . ._ he dug his broken comlink out of the pocket of his robes and placed it in Anakin’s hands. “Could you fix this without looking?”

The boy glanced at the device and scoffed, “of course.” At Obi-Wan’s exasperated eyebrow, he gave a chastened nod.

“Try to do that while thinking about your frustration.” Obi-Wan encouraged him.

Anakin huffed but complied, fixing his posture again and sitting. He fiddled with the device in his hands, brow furrowed in concentration. As his focus heightened, Obi-Wan noticed the tension from his shoulders relax.

Gently, he reached out his consciousness to touch against the frayed bundle of nerves that was Anakin. It was like trying to touch a bonfire, all the midi-chlorians in his system humming with energy. But as his fingers nimbly worked with the inner panel of the comlink, Obi-Wan could feel the frantic energy recede, calmed.

“Well done, Ani.” The nickname tumbled unbidden from him and Obi-Wan smiled genuinely when Anakin beamed up at him. “You will become a Jedi yet.”

“You can come to me next time you break it,” Anakin chirped, placing the device in Obi-Wan’s hand. “Can I go now? I’m gonna go.” The boy bounded up and raced off to explore some other part of the temple.

Obi-Wan barely had time to let out a surprised laugh. “I certainly will,” he called after Anakin, a strange warmth filling his chest. It soothed the ache.

* * *

To become a Jedi Knight, Padawans had to undertake several trials in order to be acknowledged by the Council. In some cases though, they determined a Padawan had been sufficiently tested on missions. Even then though, it was always the Master that cut the Padawan braid, symbolizing a bond severed physically but never spiritually. 

Obi-Wan knelt before Master Yoda, unable to stop the churning in his stomach.

Wise eyes peered at him as Yoda activated his lightsaber. It crackled with a familiar, warm hum. “Much sorrow you have been through,” Yoda said, his stout brow furrowing in sadness. “Commend you, the Council does.”

He couldn’t keep his eyes open as the blade lowered, afraid that if he kept them open, the burning tears would escape. _There is no emotion, there is peace._ The heat of the lightsaber crackled against his skin and there was the loud hiss as Obi-Wan’s braid was sheared off. _Bullshit._

Obi-Wan staggered on his knees then looked up to face Yoda’s mournful expression. His taloned hand proffered the long, worn braid. There were flecks of auburn and even that one grey hair that had Obi-Wan so panicked as a young Padawan.

 _Are you so ashamed to have one more thing in common with me?_ Qui-Gon had teased him, gesturing to his own mane of grey. Obi-Wan had scowled with a mulish teenage attitude at the time, abhorred at the thought of being even more similar to his odd Master.

Now, he wasn’t sure what to think.

_There is no death, there is the Force._

Obi-Wan ducked his head further down in a respectful bow, blinking rapidly before taking his braid. “Thank you, Master Yoda,” he said hoarsely.

“Rise, you may, Knight Kenobi,” Yoda nodded.

As Obi-Wan stood up, he felt as though his head was untethered without the secure weight of the braid, and yet burdened anew. He noticed again how hunched Yoda seemed. There had been lifetimes of anguish in the Grand Master’s eyes through the smoke of Qui-Gon’s pyre. Another Master, another friend, gone. 

For a moment, it felt as if only Yoda understood the slow, agonizing fire that was burning through Obi-Wan, that threatened to turn his tattered heart into ashes. It was an atrocity against everything he’d ever stood for, against the Jedi Code and his principles.

But Obi-Wan couldn’t muster the effort to bury it.

“A decision the Council has come to about young Skywalker,” Yoda added. “Trained he will be by Master Windu.”

Obi-Wan took it back. He’d thought he’d felt queasy before— the floor had just dropped from beneath him.

He protested, “Master Yoda—” _He promised, he_ promised. 

“A mission we have assigned you to, Knight Kenobi,” Yoda sternly spoke. “To Mandalore, you will go.”

No. There was no way Yoda understood Obi-Wan if he wanted to send him back to that planet. To the place where the other broken shards of his heart lay, trampled under the feet of carefree teenagers who knew nothing else.

“No,” Obi-Wan unconsciously breathed out as if he’d been punched. “Master, you _cannot_ expect this of me—”

“Believe in danger the government is the Council does,” Yoda interrupted. “Need another person for your impertinence to suffer, Knight Kenobi?” 

Obi-Wan’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Qui-Gon’s death . . . perhaps it _was_ his fault. Would he leave her to that fate? He had failed Anakin so horribly already, surely the universe could not punish him further?

His tongue, always so quick to mock his Master or snap at a peer was humbled in the tired gaze of the Grand Master. 

“Leave tomorrow, you will. Already made accommodations have been,” Yoda guided Obi-Wan from the room. “Recommend you prepare, I do.” 

Yoda watched silently as the young man walked away. Grief had the ability to make one look older and yet younger at the same time. He sighed to himself. This was perhaps a cruel method, but the Council had been discussing for weeks how to move forward from the Force’s disturbing images. Young Kenobi’s latest trial had only proved that he was the only one that could do this mission.

It had to be done.

* * *

When a blur of sun-kissed blond hair flew into Obi-Wan, cleanly knocking the air out of his lungs, the laugh that escaped him was bittersweet.

 _How?_ His mind wondered. How could he have been _bitter_ toward this child who gave so selflessly? It was not up to him, as the Padawan, to question Qui-Gon when the man had suggested Obi-Wan prematurely take the trials. Hadn’t Obi-Wan, in his own way, demanded he was ready countless times to his Master?

As the responsible knight, Obi-Wan should have placed Anakin down, firmly explaining that Jedi could not have deep attachments.

But there was such a scary feeling of wisdom in Anakin’s eyes when he looked up at Obi-Wan from where he had been nuzzling him, that Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder how cruel was the Code if it would not allow a boy born into chains to finally own something if that thing was a friend?

How cruel was the Code if it would not allow a mourning Padawan to fulfill his Master’s last wish?

Gently, Obi-Wan placed Anakin down, still smiling faintly, and looked into his enthused eyes. “I take it you were told the news?”

“Yes! I’m going to become a Jedi!” Anakin cheered. With the mercurial nature of a child though, he frowned and gestured for Obi-Wan to lean closer. “Though I don’t think Master Windu likes me all that much,” he whispered conspiratorially.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, “oh?” He looked to the side where Masters Windu and Yoda were standing, waiting to see him off. He couldn’t quite hold back a smile at the slightly pissed off expression that was generally Master Windu’s neutral expression. Well, he couldn’t exactly blame Anakin for the impression he’d gotten. Not to mention Master Windu had probably just heard everything that had transpired between the two— Anakin did need to work on his subtlety.

“Well, should anything arise, you can always comm me.” Obi-Wan said. “Once you stay in Coruscant for longer, I think you shall find many new places. Actually, if you have the time, try to convince Master Windu to take you to Dex’s— you won’t regret it.”

Anakin’s eyes lit up at the thought of exploring the massive planet he had seen so little of before. He then stared at Obi-Wan solemnly, “I’ll see you soon, Obi-Wan. I’m sure of it.”

Obi-Wan ruffled Anakin’s shaggy hair— imagined it in the Padawan style— and smiled fondly. “I’m sure of it, young one.”

There was a certain _knowing_ in Anakin’s voice that was oddly comforting.

Obi-Wan bowed finally to the Masters and nodded. He had been told more information would be sent to him when he reached Mandalore. Now all he had left was the day-long travel through hyperspace. He sighed to himself, hand absentmindedly reaching up to touch his braid. _Huh._

He wondered how much _she_ had changed.


	2. II: OLD AND NEW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Obi-Wan and Anakin have their first days at "work". Neither goes precisely as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the comments and kudos :) they go toward feeding my muse monster kept under my bed!

Obi-Wan watched the glowing bleed of stars condense as his ship moved out of hyperspace into the Mandalore system.

The grey planet looked much the same as it had nearly seven years ago, desert sands whirling below the sparse clouds. His ship descended through the atmosphere smoothly and Obi-Wan wondered how her rule was going. Why had they never kept up?

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

Well, he smiled derisively at himself, he was pretty sure he knew why they had cut off communication. It had been for the best, or at least they had both convinced themselves of that. And surely if her rule was secure there would have been no need to send for a Jedi.

No, whatever problems had arisen for her, it would remain uncomplicated between them. It had to. Obi-Wan just had to imagine Master Windu was in the room or something— the perfect mood killer.

His ship broke through the cloud layer and approached one of the massive cities. Truly they were architectural feats, even compared to the ornate Nubian domes or hulking Coruscanti cities. Mandalorian cities had their own certain charm to them, gems buried in the swirling sands covering the planet.

The shuttle shuddered a bit as Obi-Wan guided it into one of the landing docks. Beings of different species milled around, some unloading cargo. A few police officers were stationed around and a smile came unbidden to Obi-Wan at the picture of perfect order. She certainly ran a tight ship. As to be expected of _her_.

He stepped onto the landing platform and nodded politely in greeting at an approaching guard.

“The Duchess is expecting you,” the guard said, briskly but not unkindly.

Obi-Wan offered a grim smile, suddenly feeling his stomach drop as he stepped on the hovering transport. “Well we can’t keep her waiting,” he forced out, hoping he sounded as smooth as he imagined.

Thinking about the events that had passed in the past days on the ship had been one thing. Freeing a boy and planet from chains, losing his master. Realizing that he was about to face . . . an old friend . . . . Somehow that felt like the hardest endeavor of them all. 

Obi-Wan was starting to get whiplash from all the changes.

The platform smoothly raised and they were speeding through the bright glass and metal hallways to land before a large, arched doorway. They disembarked and two more guards nodded at the pair as they entered. Large panes of glass let the streaming sunlight in while some generator must have been managing climate control, Obi-Wan mused. It was fascinating to see what changes she had made already while maintaining a distinctively Mandalorian touch. Her people always did love their traditions.

But try to distract himself he may, Obi-Wan soon found himself being guided into a final chamber, where the sunbeams struck an ornate throne in the center of the room on an elevated pedestal. As pragmatic as she was, she had always had a flair for the dramatic Obi-Wan thought to himself amusedly. 

Who sat _on_ the throne, however, was far less amusing. And she didn’t look pleased to see him.

Duchess Satine Kryze waved for the man talking to her and the guard to leave them and she stood. For a moment, he was stunned by the ways she had changed and yet . . . hadn’t. A decadent headdress guided her wavy golden hair into patterns and disk adorned her face, but it was her fierce expression that hadn’t changed a bit.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, so good to see you,” she said frostily, as if her saying his name could then vivisect him on the spot. Obi-Wan could believe it. “I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

He gave a terse smile, not sure how successful he was at hiding the sting of her piercing blue eyes. “As do I. You look beautiful as ever, Duchess.” The words felt like ash in his mouth.

“Would you join me on a walk? We have much to discuss,” she said, stepping forward without waiting for him to respond.

Obi-Wan nodded mutely and wondered how this could feel so different from when they were teenagers and she had demanded he follow her. Back then, it had not felt so much an order but an adventure. Her back was tall and proud before him, headdress flowing downward. _Beautiful_ , his mind supplied. Obi-Wan flinched slightly, relieved that Satine couldn’t see him. 

How weak did that make him? To be drawn to a woman after seven years who gave him less than a second glance? He would release these thoughts to the Force later.

“I take it you have been sent here to protect me?” Satine asked bitingly. She led them out into a small glass walkway, perfectly maintained trees spread around.

“Well, we didn’t do too shabbily the last time, did we?” Obi-Wan said. He silently congratulated himself on the fact that his banter didn't sound entirely pathetic.

Satine’s expression softened, “no, indeed. You did quite well. I was sorry to hear about Master Jinn. He was an excellent man and, I take it, mentor.”

Obi-Wan clenched and unclenched his fists. “He was.” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore how the crystalline scenery seemed to be blurring. “It would be helpful to me if you could explain the situation. I will be meeting with the Council shortly, but I wanted—” _to see you_ “— to hear what your perspective on matters were.”

Ever the politician, Satine smoothly changed topics.

“Recently, the group that was the remnants of the dissenting group from the civil war have shown signs of organizing. Truly, it is not that large of an issue, I’m honestly surprised that the bloated form of the Senate was able to rally enough to send you here,” Satine said dismissively.

_Sharp as ever, too._

Obi-Wan's expression became carefully neutral. “It was the Jedi Council that sent me here, I believe, because they are concerned for your government.”

Satine’s brow still furrowed in irritation. “I stand corrected. But that changes not that if the Senate or Jedi Council truly cared for the security of Mandalore, they would have offered more support for my people while we rebuilt.”

“I cannot change the past actions of either of those bodies,” Obi-Wan conceded, “but now that I’m here, I’d like to assist you in any way I can. I’ve been sent here to help and I believe your cause will do this system a lot of good.”

For the first time in their meeting, she offered a faint smile. “I know, Obi-Wan. Thank you.”

* * *

It was Anakin’s first official day as a Padawan learner. Sure, it was under Master Windu, who Anakin was pretty would rather shovel Bantha poodoo than teach him, but since moving into the Temple accommodations he had been fed regularly, hadn’t been made to work at all, and there was _no_ sand!

Needless to say, he was pretty excited about his first lesson.

Master Windu had told him to meet him in the courtyard at 0600. Since Anakin had usually woken up at 0500 on Tatooine to slip in extra tasks before the workday started, he had an hour to kill before. Not to mention, planet-to-planet time differences meant he’d woken up even earlier.

But what this all really meant was now Anakin had _tons_ of time to kill getting lost in this massive Temple. 

Tatooine locals got used to the constantly changing sands. The dune seas were constantly familiar in their unfamiliarity. All one really needed to know their way was the placement of the two suns that watched over the scorched planet.

Traveling to Naboo had felt like dying and going to where the angels came from— Anakin was certain no one, not even the Gungans, needed _that_ much water.

But now on Coruscant, Anakin felt like every moment was a new sensation. Just in the air, there were so many new smells, far more piercing without sand clogging every pore. It was like the smoky smells of the Mos Espa markets but with the far more pungent quality of speeder grease and hover cars.

Anakin loved it.

The only thing that had brought down his mood was having to see Obi-Wan off yesterday. Wistfully he thought of the japor tree by him and his mom’s home. If he had known he was parting with the Jedi so soon, he would’ve liked to carve him a charm as he’d done for Padmé. Who knew what lurked in the vast reaches of the universe where Obi-Wan was going and without his older friend?

Anakin frowned at the thought of Mister Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan had looked so crushed at the funeral. 

Anakin had gotten pretty used to the thought of death as a kid on Tatooine. But if there was something so powerful enough to kill a Jedi Master on _Padm é’s _planet, Anakin’s stomach churned to think of what Obi-Wan could face on the other planet he was going to. He needed the luck of all the gods he could get. And maybe if the luck wasn’t all used up on protecting him, the gods would be kind enough to lighten that invisible weight pushing Obi-Wan’s shoulders down.

Anakin opened the small cabinet in his sparse room, finding robes he assumed he was supposed to wear. Now if only he could figure out what order they were supposed to be worn in.

Looking at all the layers Obi-Wan had been wearing on Tatooine had made his head spin, but now they confused him for another reason.

Tears came to his eyes at the thought of his mom. Resourceful and kind, Shmi Skywalker would have been able to help him figure out how to wear these foreign robes and wouldn’t have even mocked him for it— like he was _sure_ Master Windu was going to— because mom would have known how much teasing would hurt his feelings.

He rubbed at his eyes angrily. _Crying is a waste of water, Ani,_ the desert whispered to him.

 _No_ , Obi-Wan had _told_ him that he would become a Jedi and he _would._ He would make Obi-Wan and mom and Padmé proud. And maybe, if he tried really hard, he would make Master Windu proud too.

As he played with the various layers of his robes, trying to make them appear somewhat proper, he wondered about communicating with his mom. Obi-Wan had bought him a comlink to communicate with so that solved his part of the problem. But how to get a signal all the way to the Outer Rim and to his mom? As slaves, they had been too poor, not to mention, not allowed, to have too many complex “luxuries”. Watto barely allowed Anakin’s broken down droids, provided he was the one finding all of the parts ( _certainly_ not from Watto himself), much less a stable, working comlink.

He sighed, giving up on his robes and the thought. Anakin would ponder the idea later. After all, there was never a problem he couldn’t fix. Maybe, once he became a Jedi, he could just go to Tatooine and free his mom!

Anakin opened the door, smiling at the pleasing sound of the airlock hissing.

The dormitory hallway was dim, lit by only a few lights. Anakin slipped down the hallway. It wasn’t nearly as quiet as the eerie silence of the desert, where elders told stories of the dunes quietly eating villages up whole in the night to scare children. 

In fact, if Anakin focused hard enough, it almost felt like he could hear whispers at the edge of his mind.

It was similar to the feeling he’d gotten around Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, though the whispers had been softer with those two.

Anakin followed the feeling until he was at a door that was slightly larger than the others that had lined the hall. He could _feel_ several presences inside the room, teeming with life and energy. They were . . . happy but subdued. He smiled at the thought of small Jedi sleeping.

* * *

The sun was rising on Coruscant when Anakin finally stumbled upon the courtyard. Really, there had been, like, _eight_ courtyards. Master Windu could’ve helped him out by telling him which one.

The sunrise turned the buildings vibrant shades of orange and red. Anakin didn’t miss Tatooine and its horrible sand and worse food, but he did miss watching the dunes bleed red with his mom after a long day of work.

He sighed and tried to perk up as he watched the tall figure of Master Windu approach.

“Padawan Skywalker,” Master Windu nodded him, raising a suspicious brow at Anakin’s haphazard appearance. 

He burned in embarrassment, wondering if it would be better or worse if he tried to explain himself. Master Windu already thought he was too old— he didn’t need the Master to think he couldn’t dress himself.

There was a beat of silence as Anakin contemplated the quickest way to jump off one of the numerous ledges he’d seen around the Temple.

Surprisingly, Master Windu merely sighed and gestured for Anakin to follow him. “Today, we will be practicing one of the most important and fundamental skills for a Jedi.”

Anakin’s excitement immediately bounded back. “Can we tour around the Temple, sir? Will I get to make a lightsaber yet? When do I meet with the group of Jedi on cushions? Does that only happen when I’m in trouble? Was I in trouble before? Actually, let’s not go to the cushion people. _Wait_ — you’re one of them, aren’t you? That’s so cool! Do I get to fly as a Jedi? Did you ever have hair, sir—” 

Master Windu sent a smoldering stare down at Anakin hurriedly closed his mouth. “That was _not_ an invitation to talk, young Padawan. And you will address me as your _Master_.”

He sighed another one of those slightly irritated sighs (Anakin was starting to wonder if Master Windu woke up, frown permanently etched on his face as he greeted the day with another depressing exhale of air). “But it’s good that you have enthusiasm. Now you must channel that into connecting with the Force,” he conceded, gesturing for Anakin to join him on the cushions.

“This is an outdoor meditation hall. Learning to meditate and release your feelings into the Force is an essential part of being a Jedi,” Master Windu explained, seating himself cross-legged. Anakin applauded himself on biting back a groan.

“Master Windu,” he started hesitantly. When his new Master didn’t object, he continued, “what if I’m bad at meditating?” _What if I’m not meant to be a Jedi? What if I fail—_

“Do not be so filled with fear, young Skywalker,” Windu admonished, but his tone was less irritated. Anakin wondered if he was offering up his frustration to the Force right then. What did the Force do with all those thoughts and worries? Where did the Force put its own worries or all the worries Jedi shoved at it, Anakin wondered. He slumped his shoulders— he couldn’t help that he got scared about things.

If you weren’t scared, that meant you just rolled over and died. He’d seen too many people who, overwhelmed by the conditions on Tatooine, merely walked into the desert to die, sapped of their will. Being scared was what kept him alive, what kept his nerves sharp when he podraced.

“You have a natural aptitude for certain parts of the Force. But if you’re not mindful, that will only lead you down a path that is irredeemable from.” Windu warned. “Heed the first commandment of the Jedi Code: _there is no emotion, there is peace_.”

Anakin morosely nodded his head and sat beside his Master. He closed his eyes and straightened his back, trying to concentrate. Tried not to think about how he couldn’t keep his head empty because then he started getting frustrated and then his head was even more full—

He shifted a bit. He wondered if these were the sort of cushions Master Windu sat in that room. No wonder all the Jedi Masters looked so irritated— their backsides were probably aching.

Anakin cracked an eye open and it seemed like his Master was about to chide him. Could Master Windu read his thoughts? Oh, merciful sun gods he was going to get kicked out, wasn’t he?

For the moment, Windu didn’t say anything and they continued to sit in silence. In the distance, Anakin could hear the whirl of bustling city life, but it felt almost muted. There was an intense feeling of light calmness that seemed to emanate from the Temple’s structures. And yet . . . below that— _icy claws simultaneously burned as they gripped into him—_

Anakin jolted and he was sure Master Windu was going to scold him.

“Master?” Anakin finally forced out.

Windu’s expression settled into one of cautious neutrality. “Yes, Padawan Skywalker?” 

“I was thinking . . .”

“Yes, I can feel the force of your thoughts,” Master Windu dryly said. Anakin felt the overwhelming urge to shut up and just endure until this lesson was over with when Windu sighed heavily. “This is why I hesitated to accept your training, young one. It is difficult to pick up these habits so late. I will help you learn, what were you thinking?” His tone was surprisingly amicable, his scrutinizing stare not unkind.

“I was wondering, I— well, why do I call you Master?” Anakin hurriedly explained himself at his Master’s stony expression. “I mean no disrespect, sir—” he corrected himself, “Master, but it’s just . . . on Tatooine. I just don’t think you’re anything like those Masters and Obi-Wan said that I was free now so—” He cut himself off at Master Windu’s thunderous expression.

“ _S_ _kywalker_ ,” Master Windu bit out then stopped himself, taking a deep breath. “The Jedi stand for defending peace and harmony throughout the galaxy. We fight against the institution of slavery vehemently—” 

Anakin couldn’t help himself, he felt the tears budding in his eyes. Spending time in water surplus areas had spoiled him. “If the Jedi are so amazing— why did they not free my mom? Why did they not free my friends?” He stood up angrily, seeing the faces of Kitster and all of his friends flash through his mind. He _knew_ this was probably not a good argument to have with Master Windu, nor was it good to disrespect a dead man. But it wasn’t fair and Anakin had always held that Jedi _were_ fair.

“Why did I get to leave when she had to stay? I’m no good at being a Jedi, anyway!” he finally declared.

A shadow fell over Master Windu’s expression. “Please sit, Padawan Skywalker.” He breathed out heavily, “you feel too strongly and that clouds your judgment.”

Anakin’s face burned. His judgment wasn’t _clouded_. He felt like he was the only one making sense here and it was his Master that had gone cloudy. He glared, embarrassed and angry, at Windu.

He wasn’t quite sure what to say in this situation so he bolted.

“Padawan Skywalker!” Master Windu called out, irritation coloring his tone.

But there was no feeling of a blow falling upon his back and Anakin felt the wind in his hair and he was barrelling away— he was _free_ — 

It was only when he reached his dormitory room, slightly winded, that he realized how horribly he had messed up. His stomach dropped at the thought of what Master Windu was going to do— he was going to tell the Council and then Anakin would be banished— 

_Should anything arise, you can always comm me_ , Obi-Wan had said.

Well, this definitely counted as “something”.

With shaky hands, Anakin activated the comlink. After a few moments of blinking lights, a hologram of a grim-faced Obi-Wan appeared.

“Anakin, I must admit, I didn’t expect a call for . . . a while. What did you want to talk about?” Obi-Wan gave a tense smile.

Anakin felt the anxiety leave his shoulders just hearing his name— continuously hearing just _Padawan Skywalker_ and _young Skywalker_ had started to grate on his nerves.

“Obi-Wan, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a Jedi.” The words burst out of him. “Master Windu had me meditate today and I just _couldn’t_ get my mind to be quiet like how it’s supposed to be. And then I asked Master Windu about masters and he just talked about how Jedi oppose slavery but that doesn’t change that it doesn’t _feel_ fair and I wish I was back on Tatooine and my mom was here! She’s so wise and smart, I’m sure she could have become a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan let him finish, a contemplative look on his face. “I can see how that would be frustrating, Anakin. But Master Qui-Gon _chose_ you, and we both believe in you. Learning to release your feelings into the Force is an important skill as a Jedi _and_ it will come with practice. Just give it another chance— remember what we did before?”

Anakin sighed, but dug out the few trinkets he’d taken with him from his home. He sat himself on the floor, setting the hologram before him. He took the gears and wires into his hands and frowned at them, “is there something wrong with me? That I need to do this and I can’t just _sit?_ ”

“Nothing is wrong with you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said gently. Anakin closed his eyes and began to play with the parts, fitting them together in various ways. He let Obi-Wan’s accented voice wash over him. “It’s all to do with how each individual learns. After all, we wouldn’t judge a Hutt for how well they could run, would we?”

Anakin quirked a faint smile at the imagery. Fiddling with the teeth of one particular gear, he felt his mind settle and calm. He’d definitely acted out of hand but just being _around_ Master Windu just made him act defensive.

“As for the thing about masters,” Obi-Wan’s voice softened, “you’ll need to discuss that with Master Windu further, but know that the Jedi Order is nothing like a master and slave. In fact, I think that’s what differentiates the light and dark sides of the Force. Meditation and everything we do is aimed at making sure both Master and Padawan can reflect and grow to best serve others.” He winced slightly at his words, “I mean that in the best-intentioned way. You are free, Anakin, trust me on that. And should you wish to leave the Order . . .” 

He looked so pained and sad at the thought, Anakin spoke up immediately. “I don’t! Master Windu has been sucky, but I don’t want to leave.” As he voiced the words, Anakin realized that they were true.

Even if the past week had pulled back the curtain a lot on the enigma of the Jedi Order, it hadn’t lost the reverence in his mind. Sure, Master Windu was a lot, but Anakin had gotten to see men like Master Qui-Gon and even Obi-Wan in action and the good that they did. And if Anakin thought they should be doing more, well, _he_ would just have to do it once he became a Jedi.

Obi-Wan gave a small smile. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m sure you will become an excellent Jedi, Anakin.”

Anakin peered up from the mechanics in his hands and looked at him suspiciously. “You don’t look happy, Obi-Wan. What happened?” The shaky sort of anticipation that had gripped the young man when he’d left was gone, leaving this weary creature that had been at Qui-Gon’s funeral.

The attempt at a smile faded from Obi-Wan’s face. “You were not the only one to have disappointments today, young one.” He rubbed his face wearily, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t burden you with this.”

“It’s okay! I want to hear,” Anakin said determinedly. Obi-Wan had seemed so distant when they had first met, suspicious and angry. But he’d become soft and pliable since Qui-Gon’s death and no one had seemed to notice but Anakin. He was afraid Obi-Wan would seep through the cracks if everyone wasn’t careful. Obi-Wan was trying his best to help Anakin and this was the least he could do to reciprocate.

A spark seemed to flicker in Anakin’s mind and he jumped. He became aware of emotions that weren't his own. They were . . . warm. _Fond._

A voice called Obi-Wan from the far end of where he was and a neutral expression shuttered over the gentle smile that had finally started to show.

“Apologies, Anakin, I must go now. I encourage you to speak with Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin frowned. “Alright. We’ll talk soon!”

The smile flickered back. “I’m sure of it.”

Anakin’s room was submerged in darkness again and he sat back, strangely calm. He could do this— he could make Obi-Wan proud. He’d even convince Master Windu to be proud of him. He _knew_ he could.

Anakin looked down at his hands and saw the crudely constructed mechanical Bantha he’d made. He twisted the knob on the side and set the robot down, watching it shuffle across his floor with a small smile.

* * *

Obi-Wan turned off the comlink and his hand shook slightly. He was relieved Anakin seemed to have rebounded and was hopefully on the path to reconciliation with his Master (there was still a pang in Obi-Wan’s chest when he thought of all the meaningless squabbles he’d had with Qui-Gon) and wished that Master Windu had had some tact when talking to Anakin. Perhaps it was just different for Obi-Wan, having seen the conditions Anakin had lived in.

But . . . at the end of the call, there had been _something_. A connection. Obi-Wan frowned to himself, there was no way, so _quickly_ . . . . Was his spirit truly so aching in the loss of his Master that it had readily bonded to Anakin? 

He tested the link cautiously, pushing across his feeling of hope. He felt Anakin’s mind reciprocate with a ferocious warmth. Obi-Wan marveled at the strength of the boy’s innate ability— he likely wasn’t even consciously doing so.

Perhaps he wouldn’t fail Qui-Gon yet— he could still help guide Anakin as he wished.

Obi-Wan finally turned around to face the guard that had come to call him. 

He observed the man, who was breathing slightly hard. _He ran here_ , Obi-Wan determined, brow furrowing.

“The Duchess requests your presence,” the guard said.

Obi-Wan clipped his lightsaber to his belt. “Of course.”

After the tepid dinner, which had gone better than expected, he had retired to his room for the night and hadn’t exactly expected to be called upon for the rest of the night. Hopefully, whatever Satine required would not need his full armor.

When they arrived in a smaller room, evidently Satine’s office, she was sitting over a datapad, while a Mandalorian police officer crisply delivered a report.

She looked up and met Obi-Wan’s eyes and the icy disposition that had greeted him throughout the day crumbled. “Obi-Wan, it’s good to see you.” She leaned back in her chair and gestured to the police offer to continue.

“Sir,” the officer nodded respectfully to Obi-Wan. “No essential areas were struck, however, the bomb did damage a generator belonging to the private sector.”

“Thank you, captain,” Satine dismissed him. Her interlaced fingers on her desk clenching slightly was the only sign of her strain. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been treating you, but this is what I was afraid of. As an internal matter, I firmly believe that this is just a small group of dissatisfied individuals that will be able to be reasoned with, but having a third party— a Jedi, no less— here that I fear provoked this larger action.”

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. “Satine, I don’t want to presume I know your society better than you do, but any group that casually escalates to using explosives because of one individual is not a merely misguided group. That’s terrorism.” 

Despite this troubling development, he couldn’t deny the slight jump his heart did at the confession. Perhaps not all bridges were burned as he thought.

She tapped at something on the datapad. “I’ve had officers observe this group for a while. They are likely involved with the group of renegades that call themselves the Death Watch.”

“And the name didn’t raise any red flags earlier?” Obi-Wan deadpanned.

“We’ve been _observing_ them.” Satine glared. “The police force is vigilant. There’s no need for outright confrontation before we have enough data. An open conflict would go against our very principals, not to mention cause chaos.”

Obi-Wan began to pace, rubbing his chin as he thought. “If confrontation is against _your_ principles, then what are theirs? What makes them so different from the terrorists and opposition during the civil war?”

Satine rubbed at her forehead uneasily, “the ones that claim to be Death Watch? To be honest, not much. They idolize the warrior past of Mandalore blindly, choosing not to pay heed to all the violence and harm it caused innocent people.”

Obi-Wan offered, “if you’ll let me, I’ll investigate the area?”

“And have you slice and dice your way through evidence and our path to due process?” Satine scoffed, then softened her expression. “I’m sorry— but there is a system in place that has been working, and I would appreciate it if you respected it.” She relented. “I’ll be going down to see the scene tomorrow morning with my officers.”

He nodded. “I’ll be there. Good night.” He bowed slightly and left Satine for the night.

As Obi-Wan walked down the hallway he mused over the conversations he’d had. Anakin not fitting in under Windu’s tutelage and the terrorism problem blurred together. He supposed, looking at both systems from the perspective of faith, he could almost see how it was causing Anakin so much difficulty. To not be raised a youngling, he might as well ask himself to consider the dogma of ancient Mandalorians to demand Anakin blindly submit himself to the will of the Force. To give up one’s attachments when before that was all he had . . . .

No . . . he had to figure out a way to make the Code make sense to Anakin. The Code was not akin to some terroristic hogwash. It required discipline and dedication, but it’s guiding principles were what had _shaped_ Obi-Wan. They couldn’t be wrong.

He needed to meditate on this.

Maybe then Obi-Wan would be able to make sense of the uncertainty within himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and yes, *cracks knuckles*, im prepared to tackle every one of these emotionally-stunted fools' traumas if it's the last thing i do.  
> /really/ considering letting a lil 'soka appear... (the room anakin stumbled upon was the youngling nursery ;) )


	3. III: MIRSHKO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mace and Anakin have a heart-to-heart and Obi-Wan and Satine investigate a bombing.
> 
> Mirshko - [Mando'a] courage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say what you want about TPM and the acting, but kid!anakin was cute damnit and i want more.

Mace Windu didn’t chase Skywalker down. He watched his unruly Padawan bolt, running through the Temple past some confused learners who clearly struggled to avoid gaping. 

Mace sighed, it appeared the boy had absorbed more from Qui-Gon in the week or so than the actual time he’d been trying to instruct the boy. He closed his eyes, reaching his mind out to young Skywalker and felt the passing urge to clench his hands.

Skywalker had no shields, had no idea of how powerful his thoughts were.

Mace could _feel_ the trepidation rolling off the boy, a relentless maw that was threatening to devour the boy’s, admittedly light, presence in the Force. Young Skywalker was certainly _strong_ in the Force, but directionless power could only lead to the dark side.

But there had been a time when Mace had known another child who others had thought was too lost, too broken to become a Jedi. She’d been taken from her home, her parents slaughtered before her eyes by a merciless band of pirates. But Mace had seen the light in her and had argued for her right to become a Padawan learner.

He sighed and rubbed his brow in frustration. Another breath in, out and the irritation was released to the Force.

Master Depa Billaba had turned out well, exceptionally well considering her background. In fact, just in the past year, she had been appointed to the Jedi Council to Mace’s secret pride. He considered this. After all, wasn’t Depa the one who had managed to perfect the Vaapad form while resisting the temptations of the dark? Perhaps young Skywalker . . .

But Depa, while scarred by her childhood, had still been so _young_ when she came to the Order. She had none of the habits ingrained in young Skywalker. But, at the same time, the boy had been raised enslaved to one of the most repulsive species of the galaxy. 

Mace winced slightly to himself, young Skywalker _had_ had a point about the unusual dominance of Hutt space considering that they opposed everything the Jedi Order stood for. But the Jedi submitted to the Senate for accountability and the Senate had become content in the past decades with settling for trade deals and treaties with the Hutt clans.

He felt the righteous anger that had so easily commanded him as a teenager begin to bubble up, but he swallowed it down. As a Padawan, he himself had learned the difficult way that having systems was the best way to ensure that fairness and justice could reign, even over personal inclinations. Power in anyone’s hands could become corrupt. Even if Mace himself was starting to have doubts about said system’s effectiveness.

Mace would give young Skywalker time to calm himself before he went to him. He would need to give himself time to calm as well.

* * *

When Anakin awoke from his troubled sleep in the morning, he wanted to cover his head with his pillow. His stomach growled miserably. 

The day before, he’d been too upset to try to venture into the halls in search of wherever Jedi ate, and Obi-Wan had left the call too soon for Anakin to remember to ask. He _certainly_ wasn’t going to go to Master Windu, assuming the man didn’t immediately toss Anakin out. The fact he hadn’t been roused in the middle of the night to leave wasn't the slightest bit reassuring.

He half-heartedly tossed on what he thought was the outer robe of his attire. He wasn’t really sure he cared anymore. He ran his fingers through his short hair, poking at the short braid. Anakin was going to miss it when he got kicked out of the Jedi Order for being an ungrateful brat. He wondered if, when being banished from the Jedi, they entirely shaved your head. He shuddered at the thought of looking like his Master.

Anakin then rolled up his bed and sighed in a scarily good impression of his Master. He supposed he should try to find Master Windu and apologize (and beg that he not be removed).

Anakin morosely opened his door, hoping that he wouldn’t run into any of the other Padawans. The few he had seen around looked so amicable and nice— certainly no replacement for Kitster— but he would be sad that he wouldn’t be able to become friends with anyone. He was especially sad he’d have to leave behind this room with its door that slide open and shut without any sand—

“ _Ahh_ — sir?” Anakin yelped, jumping back at the imposing figure in his doorway. “I— I mean, Master Windu—” he stuttered, suddenly very aware of his appearance.

Master Windu’s expression surprisingly didn’t get more puckered at the horrible (even for Anakin’s standards) greeting. “May I come in, Padawan Skywalker?”

Anakin hesitantly nodded, stepping back.

The tall Jedi sat in the middle of Anakin’s room. Not quite sure what he intended, Anakin stood to the side awkwardly.

“There is a system in place, because that is what protects the weak from the strong,” Mace finally started, breaking the suffocating silence. “Yes, tradition can factor into that, but faith in the Force is more than blind following. It is only in the darkness that we become slaves— slaves to our fear and emotion.”

He looked at Anakin, prodding gently at the faint wisps of their forming Force bond. Strangely, the boy seemed . . . calmer. There was still the frazzled energy that Mace was starting to realize was just young Skywalker, but it was more focused. As if the boy had managed to meditate. _Perhaps, perhaps,_ his mind whispered.

Master Windu’s expression seemed to, if possible, become more solemn, “I had hoped that you would be able to appreciate the history and tradition of the relationship of Master and Padawan, but perhaps that was too much to expect considering what you have gone through. If it is truly distressing to you, I’m agreeable to finding an alternative title for you to address me as. I just want you to understand that _that_ was never the intention of the Jedi.”

Anakin stared at his Master as if he’d grown a second head (sometimes that happened on Tatooine! Though it was usually from dehydration). He blinked and rubbed his eyes to be sure. No, a Master Windu stared back at him with an unwavering expression, patiently waiting for a response.

He supposed this meant he wasn’t being evicted from the Jedi Order.

Anakin beamed and gave his Master an elated hug.

The words flew out of him without reserve— _he was still going to be a Jedi!_ “It’s okay, I understand that you’re different from Watto. Obi-Wan said something similar, too. I won't let you down— I’ll sit all day and close my eyes and try to meditate and ignore how much my butt hurts for you!” 

A moment later, he realized his Master was sitting stiffly underneath him, having not moved. He hesitantly moved back, abashed. He had just thought . . . well, whenever Kitster and he had fought, they always hugged it out and it made him feel better. It had looked like Master Windu needed a hug.

Just as Anakin stood up, Master Windu’s expression finally shifted from the slightly frozen looking image of what equated to surprise for him. “I think I learned my lesson in forcing you to do activities in certain ways,” he managed. “No, today, I’ll show you some basic katas. I think that will be more instinctual to you.”

Anakin moved to follow his Master. “As long as ‘kata’ isn’t another name for meditation, then I’m—” a ferocious growl trembled through his stomach and he stared slack-jawed at Windu’s amused expression.

“Though, perhaps I’ll first show you the cafeteria.”

* * *

Obi-Wan made his way to a hovering transport, where the Duchess and a Mandalorian officer met him.

“Obi-Wan,” Satine nodded, distant but cordial. “May I introduce you to Chief Almec?”

The older man was dressed in the crisp grey armor and uniform of the Mandalorian guard. He bowed his hand and shook Obi-Wan’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master _Jetti._ ” Almec gave a grim smile, “I would have met with you yesterday but I was busy at the scene.”

“I completely understand,” Obi-Wan nodded, sitting down.

The transport began moving, the sparkling palace behind them shrinking rapidly.

“They struck a relatively deserted area, however, this is the first time that they’ve used explosives,” Almec explained, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. “Which would be concerning, except for the fact that it was a relatively crude device, made from materials largely from Mandalore, which increases the likelihood that this is simply a small group of dissenters.”

Obi-Wan frowned but kept his mouth shut. Perhaps Satine and Chief Almec knew the situation best in Mandalore. Perhaps his unease was because the last time he had been on the planet, there had been an actual civil war going on. He supposed one bomb did seem rather lackluster in comparison to the targeted attacks against the Duchess before.

“Where did the dissenters from the war go from? I presume, with your judicial system in place, they were given trial and arrested?” Obi-Wan asked. Satine, very maturely, ignored his jab.

“Their leader, Tor Vizsla, was killed in the fighting. The remaining members of Death Watch were put to trial and exiled to Concordia, one of Mandalore’s moons,” Almec said. “Since the end of the war, they’ve been there, attempting to restore the agricultural industry that was there prior to the mining operations during the war. Governor Vizsla is one of our officials there, keeping tabs on the activity.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow skeptically. “No relation to Tor Vizsla?”

“Pre Vizsla is of the Clan Vizsla, but since the war, less emphasis has been placed on clan to clan superiority. We are all _mando’a_ and he has done well to keep the members on the path to productively rejoining society,” Almec said, no small amount of pride in his voice. His expression darkened. “Well, until this point that is.”

The shuttle began slowing down and Obi-Wan saw the small blast radius taped off by the Mandalorian police. The party made to leave but he caught Satine’s eye. “I should like to check out the moon when there’s time,” he asked.

Satine frowned slightly, “we will discuss that later, Obi-Wan. One matter at a time.” She said dismissively and stepped out, greeting the officers walking around the scene.

Obi-Wan nodded acquiescence and he hopped out of the transport to follow her. 

He looked at the scorch marks in interest. A shabbily-made bomb, but an effective one. The husk of the compact generator looked like it had only just stopped smoldering. He didn’t dare step closer should Satine’s irritation rear its head once more. Obi-Wan normally would have had no problem stepping aside for the gears of bureaucracy to work at the problem— vandalism, violent crime were right down the alley for lawyers and judges to prosecute.

But no matter how much he had meditated on his thoughts after checking in with the Jedi Council, he couldn’t entirely make them settle. It wasn’t like the surety he’d had with Master Qui-Gon in all their dealings with the Trade Federation or whichever dissatisfied party. This terrorist group was aiming attacks at his friend and yet she refused to take them seriously! 

_Yes, they’re all children of Mandalore until one of the children ends up dead,_ Obi-Wan thought sarcastically.

He closed his eyes, reaching out to the Force. Perhaps it would speak to him as it did Qui-Gon and help him finish this problem as quickly as he could. Lingering longer would only gnaw at the cracked scabs Obi-Wan had thought healed a long time ago, especially when she seemed so unenthused to even have him there.

Obi-Wan could sense the existence of the Mandalorian guards, sharp in their focus but unaware of their presences in the Force. Then the flare of Satine— still ever bright in the Force— the same fierce determination as when she’d fought to bring together her planet.

Further, deeper, Obi-Wan’s mind swam. On the periphery, he could sense the other thousands of Mandalorian citizens milling around, unaware of the event that had happened. But closer, _closer,_ there was another presence that radiated malevolence and _intention_. 

Toward Satine.

_No._

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open and he sprinted toward the Duchess’ position. “ _Satine!_ Did you check for unactivated—” 

The building nearest to them’s wall burst outward in a rattling explosion.

Obi-Wan collided with Satine’s lithe form and he used the Force to push them to the ground as the explosion rippled through the area, debris clattering against his armor. Distantly, he heard Satine cry out in pain and surprise.

He looked down hurriedly, but she was largely unharmed but for some plaster in her hair.

Obi-Wan breathed heavily, keeping his mind open to the Force. The presence was fading quickly, retreating— alarm filled the person’s mind. _They know they’ve been found,_ he thought with vindictive pleasure. 

He double-checked that Satine was okay and then he unclipped his lightsaber and ran for where he’d sensed the person.

He found a ledge outcropping from a building that had a view into the area that they had been in. The area was empty, the culprit long gone.

“No!” He hissed to himself, _angry_. He would not fail Satine— this wasn’t like before where he was trapped behind a screen of red, he could act _now_ if he could only find the perpetrator— 

He tried to expand his awareness, his mind protesting and pulsing with a headache. Tracking had never been Obi-Wan’s forte but—

 _Obi-Wan_ he heard Satine’s mind _call_ and he froze.

_Was she hurt?_

One last scan around, he turned and jumped back down to where Satine was being propped up by Almec. None of the police officers had been hurt, though he saw a few scrapes.

Almec was helping Satine hold a cloth to her forehead, frowning slightly.

Obi-Wan felt his stomach drop. “Satine—”

“It’s just a scratch,” she reassured, somewhat shakily. She lifted the cloth slightly to reveal a small cut to which both Almec and Obi-Wan quickly protested she put pressure back on. 

“I lost the individual. They must’ve been waiting with the remote bomb, perhaps suspecting that you would come,” Obi-Wan gritted out, frustrated with himself for not _thinking_.

He bit back the urge to tear apart the police officers (with his words, he wasn’t a savage). What sort of protocol did they have to miss something as dangerous as an _unactivated_ bomb?

“Well,” Satine said, gathering herself. “Let’s head back to the Palace and get sorted out. Chief Almec, I’d like your officers to do another sweep of the perimeter. Properly, this time,” she added coolly. “Obi-Wan, did you see who the person was?”

He shook his head morosely, “no. I only sensed one person, though it’s likely that they were working with others. This seems to elaborate for an individual.”

Satine nodded, frowning. “Indeed. Almec, were you able to confirm if this was Death Watch?”

“Yes. But there was also something more worrisome,” Almec showed the Duchess a token sealed in a bag, a jagged orange insignia carved in it. “Death Watch’s symbol, but we’ve identified where the metal came from. It’s an alloy, made of elements only found on Mandalore’s moons. It could be a coincidence as we’ve only gotten reports that the mining and refining facilities on Concordia have been shut down and are being processed . . .”

“Or, you may be seeing those facilities as you requested, Obi-Wan,” Satine finished darkly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all comments & kudos :) they mean the world


	4. IV: ALIIT ORI’SHYA TAL’DIN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin learns Jedi skills, Mace is irritated (per usual), and Satine is the only one dealing with actual problems (per usual).
> 
> Aliit ori'shya tal'din aliit - [Mando'a] family is more than blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> satine kicks ass, i love her, and fuck man pain. that is all and please enjoy the chapter :)

Now this was what Anakin had imagined being a Jedi to be like. His body flowed through the movements Master Windu had shown him, practice sword heavy in hand. He had initially frowned when Windu had presented him this wooden sword that was very clearly _not_ retractable and made of plasma and a lightsaber.

His Master could clearly see his disappointment and relented. “The sooner you master these basic practices and I’m sure you won’t lop off your own hand, we’ll start you on practicing with a live blade.”

Anakin had immediately dedicated himself to practicing the kata Master Windu showed him. At first, the blade felt awkward and unwieldy in his hands, the wooden hilt rubbing into his old calluses and making new ones at the same time. Anakin swung the sword upward in a feint of a parry, spinning and slashing, nearly running into Master Windu.

Windu promptly stepped back, “not bad, but always keep focus on the area around you. Expand your awareness and use the Force to see where the moves land.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin grunted, raising the sword again. 

After a few more repetitions, the swings started feeling less like he was wrenching his shoulder blades out and he could feel himself falling into a rhythm.

“You’re getting better at blocking. Good. Now, let’s try with an extra obstacle, shall we?” From his robes, Master Windu withdrew a smooth orb. With a click of a button, the small droid activated and hovered.

Anakin eyed the lightsaber still clipped onto Windu’s robes. He’d half thought Master Windu would suggest a spar. Sure, his shoulders were hurting in a way that had never happened when just lugging around parts for Watto but this _totally_ beat meditation and Anakin would put in the work if that’s what was happening.

Master Windu caught his eyes. “Focus, Padawan Skywalker,” he admonished, amusement in his voice.

The droid fired a warning shot and Anakin turned away, yelping as it stung his arm.

“You’re supposed to be blocking, young one, not jumping,” Master Windu intoned.

Anakin readied the sword, “yes, Ma— _ah!_ ” he groaned as his hand was shocked as he raised the training sword too high. His fingers twitched slightly as he readjusted his grip. 

“ _Focus_.”

The orb moved around slowly, shooting out lasers periodically. Not enough to truly harm, but Anakin was sure he was going to find welts for days after if it kept going at this rate. _Jedi don’t run,_ he thought to himself. Another blast.

“ _Ow._ ” He hissed.

Master Windu had a contemplative expression on his face and he left the training hall for a moment. Anakin turned his head to ask if he should follow when the droid shot him again.

Well, there was his answer. He lifted his sword again, only to get a shock in the armpit. “ _Ow_ , how did you even?” He protested.

By the time Master Windu returned, Anakin was sweating, footwork having collapsed into a haphazard dance of trying to jostle his arms into raising into a semblance of defense.

“Tired already, young Padawan?” Windu asked dryly.

“Never,” Anakin huffed, suddenly thankful his hair was no longer so long. He could almost feel wind through his Padawan haircut.

“Good,” Mace Windu smiled in a scarily benevolent way. He revealed a blindfold in his hands, “put this on.” 

Anakin would have protested if he hadn’t learned the past ten times not to take his eyes off of the little droid ball of _death_. 

Windu sighed and waved his hand at the droid, which deactivated and went back to passively hovering. “Here.” Anakin exhaled in relief. 

He tied the black cloth around his eyes, “how am I supposed to see the blasts to block them, Master?”

“Reach into the Force, sense the droid’s movement and your own,” Windu instructed. 

Anakin groaned but readied himself. He heard the click of the droid activating and felt the first blast on his knuckles. He breathed out hard but bit back a complaint. He had to prove himself.

He closed his eyes under the bandana. _Focus, focus._ How had he managed to recapture the “feeling he had when he podraced” as Obi-Wan put it? Get shocked by a droid while blindfolded was probably the furthest he could get from the feeling of flying. His arms felt tired and kind of jiggly from being shocked and he wanted to sit but also he couldn’t give up now— 

Something _tugged_ in his mind and Anakin lifted his arms as if to swat it away— _sizzle._ One of the bolts seared into the wooden sword.

“I did it!” Anakin whooped, looking blindly to where he thought Master Windu was. That was it— if he focused he could feel Master Windu’s presence. He squinted unconsciously as if that would help him focus on his Master—

Another blast hit his shoulders.

“Keep your focus, Padawan,” Master Windu scolded. Anakin could practically feel the eye roll in his tone, but he shifted his stance nonetheless. 

When he lifted his sword again, the same tugging sensation happened as he relaxed himself and he felt the slight contact through the sword. His eyes fell shut and raised the blade again. Another and another blast came and he blocked them both.

Anakin couldn’t hold back his grin.

* * *

Mace Windu dismissed his Padawan to go eat after an hour more of practicing blindfolded. While Padawan Skywalker had already started to become tired by the time Windu made him go blindfolded, he’d thrown himself with his whole mind and body to the new practice, body adapting at a pace Mace silently marveled at. His technique was sloppy, but not atrocious. At least the boy didn’t have any particularly bad habits.

Padawan Skywalker was showing the benefits of starting as a Padawan later when it came to learning Form I, but the afternoon would show if his dedication would follow up in his studies. Mace smiled grimly. He always did find amusement from making Depa read from _Rammahgon_ whilst in a handstand (the handstand part coming from a brief stint of when Master Yoda trained Mace and he never forgave the Grand Master).

And if Skywalker surpassed their expectations and Mace’s doubts? Perhaps the boy was to be the Chosen One as Qui-Gon claimed.

Thinking of Qui-Gon, Mace needed to head to a Council meeting to discuss Knight Kenobi’s on-going mission on Mandalore. Mace was disappointed it seemed Knight Kenobi seemed to fulfill the adage of “the uneti pods did not fall far from the tree”. And the young man had had such potential.

He entered the Council tower, nodding to the other Jedi Masters.

Yoda was the last to shuffle in, leaning on his gimer stick. He nimbly leaped to his seat and looked at all of the Masters in turn.

“Good it is to see you all here,” Master Yoda said, wizened head bowing slightly. The Council members murmured assent.

“Master Yoda, have you heard anything from Knight Kenobi?” Mace asked.

Master Yoda shook his head slowly. “Heard have not. Continue to have troubling visions I have. Murky is the future.”

Mace frowned, settling back in his seat. And that was the reason they had sent Knight Kenobi on this, frankly, wild goose chase of a mission. Because Master Yoda had a vision of a dark and terrible future and believed that the young Knight was the solution to fixing this. Mace had been in agreement at first, infinitely respecting the wisdom of Master Yoda and the will of the Force over his own fleeting impressions, but during the mission brief they had all felt the conflict swirling inside Knight Kenobi.

Mace had doubts that Knight Kenobi was the best one for the job.

He had asked Yoda after the first meeting why they had not outright told Knight Kenobi what his purpose was on Mandalore. 

“To know would be to taint. From feelings this change must come,” had been Master Yoda’s reply. 

Mace felt that intentionally deceiving Knight Kenobi, as irritating as the former Padawan could be, couldn’t end well either way, but Yoda had been adamant.

The room’s communications system blinked.

“Ah, Knight Kenobi it is,” Master Yoda nodded.

The connection went through to reveal a kneeling Knight Kenobi, his image shaking and flickering slightly. There was a crashing sound in the background of his transmission and the Masters leaned forward.

“There have been some complications— we may be in a situation where I’m unable to make contact for—”

Knight Kenobi grunted and dodged to the side, grabbing the arm of someone not caught in the holo.

“— for a few days. The terrorist group, the Death Watch, have proven a larger nuisance than expected. But—” Kenobi scowled and activated his lightsaber to defect a blaster shot, “I don’t believe I shall need reinforcements. Do I have permission to use means necessary to protect the Duchess, though?”

Mace opened his mouth to note that it didn’t _seem_ like Knight Kenobi had matters under control, when Master Yoda spoke up.

“Granted permission is, Knight Kenobi,” Yoda said, brow furrowing. “May the Force be with you.” 

The hologram shook violently for a moment then cut out.

The Grand Master sighed heavily then turned to the rest of the Council. “Faith we must have in young Kenobi.” 

Mace frowned, shifting in his cushion. The meeting was shortly adjourned and the lunch break he had allotted to Young Skywalker was not yet over, so he made his way over to one of the more secluded training halls. He needed to think.

He closed the doors with a wave of his hand and unclipped his lightsaber, the familiar hum of the purple blade reassuring.

Mace started the kata smoothly, feet evenly spread and falling into the movements he had known for so many years. The swooping hawk-bat razed opponents and lunged into the crawling form of the Krayt Dragon. Mace had always found movement the key to his most effective meditations— certainly, there was value in the serenity of stillness, but even as a Padawan, he had found experimenting with katas as the surest way of sorting his thoughts.

His movements flowed throughout forms, increasing in intensity. His mind spread, feeling the gently pulsing forms of the initiates. Mace gradually turned the sweeping slashes of Djem So into the most subsided, defense-based motions of Niman. He felt the Force hum around him, singing in harmony. 

Perhaps Padawan Skywalker was not unlike him. The boy had taken to the Shii-Cho katas well. But regardless of _how_ he did it, young Skywalker would need to learn meditation if he wanted any chance at being a Jedi and the results thus far had not been promising.

He balanced himself before beginning the progression into his speciality— Form VII.

Mace’s slashes became more erratic, feeling the strength and power of the many-limbed Vaapad. He deepened his connection to the Force, gathering his frustrations and doubts about the Council and his Padawan until they became the fuel for his powerful jabs. He moved across the training hall in a trance, sweat beading across his brow.

The lightsaber was the shining arc around his body— an extension of his own hand and mind— 

“Whoa, Master Windu, do I get to learn that?” a young voice interrupted his practice.

Mace stopped, using his heavy breathing to calm his blood. “Padawan Skywalker,” he turned, ready to chasten the boy for entering a— he was pretty sure he— locked training room, when he saw the utterly glowing expression on his Padawan’s face.

Padawan Skywalker was clutching the unwieldy tome of _Rammahgon_ with some difficulty but it didn’t steal away from the awe on his face. Mace bit back a scowl— the boy would need to learn to control his emotions if he wanted to be taken with any seriousness, not just by other Jedi.

“You, uh, told me that we were going to be doing history lessons for the afternoon with this book so I went to the library and this nice lady helped me, but _when can I learn how to do that?_ ” Skywalker stared eagerly.

Mace silently turned his lightsaber off and clipped it as a response, daring his Padawan to pipe up. He picked up his outer robe that had fallen off in his movements.

“As of _now_ , you will be studying the foundation of the Jedi Order. Come, young one,” he beckoned for his Padawan to follow. Padawan Skywalker shot one last longing look at the empty hall and then followed behind him.

Mace sighed and relented. It _was_ good to see a youngling that applied himself so wholeheartedly— some of the younglings he had instructed had shown little enthusiasm for the Force outside natural ability. 

“Tomorrow,” he paused, watching his Padawan glow up. “We will continue Shii-Cho and may move onto Makashi,” he finished, silently laughing at Skywalker’s expression. Mace couldn’t wait until they got to the Old Sith Wars section of the histories.

* * *

Duchess Satine Kryze came from a proud tradition of strong rulers in the House Kryze. Certainly, she had her own approach to leading the duchy that far differed from her father, Adonai Kryze, but she had earned the respect and affections of her people. Or, at least, she thought she had.

Satine resisted the urge to tap at the datapad in her hands idly, the nervous tic unbecoming of a duchess. She looked through the contents once more while she waited in the transport for the rest of her entourage. One bomb was not enough to shake her faith in her people, but it was certainly a cause of unease. 

She worried at her lip, looking at the scanned image of the token again. _Bo . . ._ _where are you?_

Satine’s thoughts were interrupted by the rest of her guard detail appearing. She considered the extra guard detail another overly antagonistic move suggested by her latest Jedi nuisance, but Obi-Wan had insisted. For a man who hadn’t stepped foot on Mandalore in seven years and arrived nearly unannounced, her guards quickly acclimatized to taking orders from him.

Said nuisance also appeared, hair slightly mussed and looking like he hadn’t slept at all. Perhaps he was sore too from all the explosions. Stars knew it would likely take a few weeks for the stiffness to leave her shoulder where she’d slammed into the ground.

“Good morning, Obi-Wan,” Satine formally greeted. She hadn’t been able to prevent the slip up of his first name at their first meeting and, well, now she’d set a precedent she couldn’t precisely _stop_.

“You look radiant as ever, Duchess,” Obi-Wan looked almost genuine in his compliment. Satine bit back the petulant frown that threatened to emerge. She knew now that his benign flattery usually masked other thoughts. The pricklier, sarcastic Obi-Wan was the man that she had known before.

And Satine didn’t appreciate being toyed with.

She avoided responding to his blasé prattle by nodding at the pilot to begin the ascent to Concordia. It would be a short flight and she had informed Governor Vizsla to be prepared for their arrival. She hadn’t told him precisely _what_ they were investigating, but she wondered if the man would know. She shook her head slightly, no, she couldn’t have so little faith in her government.

Pre Vizsla was a straight-forward, no-nonsense man. He could be brusque at times, and yet also savingly tactful at others. Over the many years she had worked with him, Satine had valued his critical eye and trusted him with her honesty. He’d been proactive in assembling Mandalorian police on Concordia and regularly updated her with his observations of the Mandalorian citizens kept there. In a way, she saw him as a mentor and loathed to insult him with this infringement.

At the same time, she refused to stand by and let matters with Death Watch escalate. What would be next? Would the bombings target Mandalore’s defenses? A more heavily populated area?

Unlike the Senate, which had let Naboo and her close friend Padmé suffer needlessly, Satine would not let this group of aspiring terrorists cow her and her government.

She trusted Pre Vizsla and knew he would assist them in whatever way they could.

Now if only she could ease the uncomfortable feeling in her chest that really couldn’t have been shifting orbits in the shuttle because Mandalorian pressurized technology was excellent— 

Satine became aware of a voice addressed to her. She turned to the Jedi Knight strapped in beside her. “Pardon, I didn’t quite catch that?”

“I was just wondering how long this Pre Vizsla has led Concordia?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Since their exile. He was quick to pledge loyalty to the New Mandalorian government and has given me no reason to mistrust his intentions,” Satine said.

“I know Chief Almec said your society was changing, but if clan loyalty was enough to tear it into war once, are you sure that the grudge doesn’t hold within his clan?”

Satine smiled bitterly, “oh, clan loyalty hasn’t meant much to many Mandalorians for a long time.” Clan Kryze knew all too well the shortcomings of individual loyalty.

Obi-Wan hummed acquiescence. “Very well. Still, during the formalities, would you mind distracting Pre Vizsla so I can look around?”

Of course Obi-Wan didn’t trust the fact that she’d been able to enact true change. A truly stunning show of faith. Still, Satine had to admit his methods could be effective.

“As long as you promise me you won’t go aggravating things or people that need not be bothered?” She wondered if asking was even worth it.

Obi-Wan gave a mock-hurt expression, “my _darling_ , when have I ever unnecessarily aggravated things or people?”

“Are you asking for a specific example? Because I’ve lost count,” Satine rolled her eyes.

He had changed so much in the past years— both of them had. They were older, wearier, saddled with new responsibilities. But Obi-Wan no longer spoke like the young boy so desperate to prove himself to his master and some formidable, self standard. 

This was purely Obi-Wan and his gut instinct and, well, Satine would trust that.

When they landed, Governor Vizsla and Chief Almec were waiting for them. 

“Duchess Satine, it’s a pleasure to have you here,” Vizsla smiled kindly. 

“Thank you, Governor Vizsla. May I introduce you to Master Kenobi of the Jedi Council?” Satine reciprocated, gesturing to Obi-Wan. 

Vizsla proffered a respectful nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Kenobi. Now, if you would come this way.”

Satine glanced to the side, making eye contact with Obi-Wan who lifted an eyebrow meaningfully. “Of course,” she said coolly. “Master Kenobi will be joining us shortly, I believe he must contact his Council momentarily.” Her voice left no room for argument.

“Not a problem. Duchess. Though, I’ll be pleased to tell you that we’ve arranged for the first shipment of the greenhouses to transport to Mandalore,” Vizsla said amicably.

“I am,” Satine relaxed into the conversation. It was indeed good news— they’d been working to get Concordia’s agricultural systems back to ease the production strain on Mandalore, starting with lettuce in the reconstructed greenhouses.

Vizsla led her down the hall. “And just wait until you’ve seen the renovations we’ve been doing on the dining hall . . .”


	5. V: SATINE, AMBUSHED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an ambush occurs, Satine is a badass, and the plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize in advance for my inability to write action scenes.  
> also, thank you for the kudos & support! they mean a lot :)

Satine was in the middle of a pleasant brunch with Governor Vizsla when the explosion shook the building. 

Their conversation on construction to encourage the recovery of Concordia’s natural ecosystem was abruptly cut off and Satine’s mind immediately flew to Obi-Wan. Stars, let that stupid man have not done something stupid, she prayed.

Naturally, as soon as she thought that, alarms started blaring throughout the facility. Vizsla stood, concern in his eyes. “That’s the fire alarm,” he said tensely. “We ought to evacuate. The air on Concordia is breathable but we filter it inside the facilities for ease—”

“Which means that the air ventilation system is connected throughout,” Satine nodded grimly. It wouldn’t do to be inside if the fire spread to here. Almec immediately ordered the guard to action.

They stood, a few guards clearing their path before them and Satine’s guard behind. They walked briskly through the halls to the nearest exit. It had only been one explosion, she justified to herself, it could have easily been an equipment malfunction.

That was when she heard the blasters and the roar of machinery familiar from her childhood. _Jetpacks_. The masked people made it unmistakable— an ambush by Death Watch.

Fantastic— where was her personally assigned Jedi when she needed him?

They had just burst outside when three of the masked assailants landed in front of them, blasters in hand. The sun glinted harshly off their armor. Satine felt her heart jump into her throat, grasping for the stun pistol she kept on her. Was this how her government would fall? A pitiable assassination attempt on Mandalore’s moon?

Not if she could fucking help it.

She shot the nearest Death Watch member to her. The stun blast largely fizzled against the armor, but the person stumbled back, clearly not expecting her to have a weapon. 

And then all hell broke loose.

The Death Watch members grappled with the Mandalorian guards. Blaster shots flew across the clearing and Satine considered running back inside for cover when she saw the smoke rising from the building. _Flushed out like animals,_ she realized angrily. 

Satine turned around to see Chief Almec picking up a fallen Mandalorian officer’s blaster, shouting into his comlink. He shook his head and made eye contact with Satine.

“They’ve scrambled communications within the area!” He called.

Satine nodded her understanding. So they were on their own. She shot a Death Watch soldier that had approached Almec from the side. The person stumbled, giving Almec enough time to slam his blaster into the soldier’s helmet. Even from a pacifist point of view, Satine had to admit the person crumpled with a satisfying thud.

A hand grabbed her arm and Satine jumped, prepared to shoot and or kick when she recognized the dirt-streaked face of Obi-Wan Kenobi, illuminated by a glowing lightsaber. 

“What happened to you?” she asked, a bit more breathlessly than she intended.

“It’s not secure here, we’ve got to go!” Obi-Wan said over the blaster fire. 

Satine hesitated, looking at her men, many of them on the ground. They were being overwhelmed— Almec was kneeling and Vizsla was nowhere to be seen in the chaos— 

_How had Death Watch grown to this degree?_

“They’re after you— _come on_ ,” Obi-Wan insisted and she followed. 

“I take it your investigations didn’t go as planned?” Satine called as they ran. It was only after they’d ducked into an area of decent foliage that he let go of her arm, but they continued their brisk pace. Satine hissed as a branch scratched her arm and focused on her breathing.

Really, she ought to tell her designers to incorporate a bit more wieldy designs into her outfits for all the times her rule was being violently challenged. At least she had foregone the headdress today.

“Not precisely!” Obi-Wan shouted.

There was a thud through the underbrush and Satine supposed it wasn’t just her racing heart because Obi-Wan turned and unclipped his lightsaber to block a blaster shot. He frowned intently and made a clawing motion toward them. 

Moments later, a Death Watch soldier ripped through the underbrush and Obi-Wan disarmed them and knocked them unconscious. 

“We must keep moving. Do you know of any deserted areas? The hanger is probably compromised at this point,” Obi-Wan asked.

“There are several mining facilities east of here that could offer shelter,” Satine said.

He nodded briskly. “It’ll have to do.” He powered off his lightsaber and they continued their path.

The sun moved steadily across the sky above them.

* * *

They hid in one of the forests leading off one of the mining camps. Obi-Wan was satisfied that they hadn’t been tracked and they had split up to do reconnaissance on one of the mining facilities, this time with their respective comlinks activated.

“I don’t know about you,” Obi-Wan whispered into the comlink, “but that certainly doesn’t look abandoned to me.”

He could practically hear Satine’s frown. “No, it doesn’t.”

When Obi-Wan had been looking around (really, he’d hardly even been _snooping_ ) nothing had actually seemed out of the ordinary. He’d been looking into some storage facility, likely for the inhabitants of the moon if the ecosystem was no longer self-sustaining as Satine had told him, prepared to move onto the next area after one final check.

That was when the bomb had gone off behind him, throwing him clear of the warehouse. He immediately ran to find Satine.

At first glance, he couldn’t reconcile this gun-wielding woman with the one who had scoffed at violence the last time they’d been in a situation like this. Certainly, the concealable pistol was set to stun, but Satine used it with scary accuracy.

Obi-Wan was sure the flood of warmth in his chest was just relief that Satine wasn’t sprawled on the ground. That, or he’d just been shot.

“Do you think there would be a transport vehicle here?” Obi-Wan asked. He figured their best option at this point was to return to Mandalore and bring back reinforcements to the moon. At the beginning of the scramble, Obi-Wan had managed to send a brief transmission to Coruscant, but now his communications were completely jammed but for the short-range link he had with Satine. 

Planning a full-on assault, even if they could track down where the other Mandalorian guards had gone in the chaos, would be unwise. They had no clue how many Death Watch members were here, though Satine seemed withdrawn on the matter. Obi-Wan couldn’t precisely blame her— she still, in a way, thought of them as Mandalorian citizens. Even Chief Almec had professed a somewhat similar viewpoint.

“It’s unlikely. Our best chance would be the hanger. But I’d like to stay around here and see what they’re up to in this area first,” Satine answered.

Obi-Wan smiled teasingly, “oh? Not afraid that we’ll be infringing on judicial evidence, now?”

Satine huffed, “ _please_. Perhaps you would, but I know what I’m doing.” There was crackling on the comlink.

He froze. “Sorry?”

There was soft shuffling on the other side of the channel and the brush beside him rustled as Satine appeared. She settled beside him. “We should take shifts to keep watch, but once it’s nightfall, I intend on investigating what has been going on down there.”

“Satine— that’s an utterly ridiculous proposition. I should be the one to go in—” 

Her brow furrowed. “No offense, Obi-Wan, but we don’t know if that _is_ Death Watch in there. It could simply be operations that Vizsla didn’t inform me of.” She didn’t look pleased at the prospect but pushed on. “If they _are_ Mandalorians, trust me, they won’t react well regardless if a foreigner is the one snooping. _Especially_ if it was a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan still vehemently disagreed with the “snooping” part, but he understood Satine’s inclination. The first time he had visited Mandalore he had not exactly received the warmest of welcomes. Of course, the system had been engaged in a massive civil war and he had been the one defending the reigning government, but it hadn’t changed that in the midst of clan feuds and complex adoption rituals, diversity was not one of the highlights of Mandalorian society. 

He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the grit under his palm. Damn, he could use a fresher at this point.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But you’ll be taking this with you.” He unclipped the blaster he’d taken off of one of the Death Watch soldiers and handed it over with no small amount of disgust. “No offense, but if it comes down to conflict, not that I won’t be coming down as soon as possible, but I don’t trust your stun gun.”

With almost matching revulsion, Satine accepted the clunky metal blaster. “Very well.” His fingers didn’t linger as she took it.

That decided, the two of them settled down to wait.

* * *

They’d spent much of the day in silence, exchanging words only to inform the other of any activity of the mining facility. Satine was still miffed that it appeared to be in operation. No mass projects appeared to be going on, but from time to time they could see the familiar shape of a moving figure. Satine couldn’t wait to identify who this group was. They didn’t have the distinctive armor of Death Watch, but she couldn’t imagine why Mandalorian guards would be there.

The sun was starting to set over the campsite when Satine’s stomach finally growled.

She hoped her embarrassment was hidden in the glow of the sun. “Sorry— we haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. He dug around in his belt. “I have an energy bar?” he offered. They split it between the two of them.

“It’s a bit like old times, isn’t it?” Satine finally said, the grainy texture of the bar still in her mouth. Many a time during the war had they only had rations while running around.

He laughed. “Indeed. Though I’m glad that they’ve seemed to have lost much of their subtlety. I’m not sure I’d be up for barrages of assassins again.”

Satine softly chuckled at the memory and they stared at each other. Obi-Wan’s blue, almost grey, eyes illuminated in the fading bursts of sunlight. If his hair wasn’t covered in patches of soot . . . well, she remembered what the flecks of auburn did in the light.

He frowned momentarily, looking to a spot on her face. “The wound healed alright?”

Satine realized the faint mark left from the bacta’s healing must’ve been visible in the direct light. “It’s fine.” Her mouth quirked into a wry smile. “It’s a bit like the other scar you gave me.”

Obi-Wan’s voice got a hoarse edge to it. “Satine . . . I—” 

The sun dipped below the moon’s horizon.

Satine promptly stood up, “can we continue this, later?” She asked quickly. She couldn’t see the look of hurt she was sure flashed across his impeccable Jedi facade. Well, all the more he couldn’t see the uncomfortable flush nestled beneath her collar.

She didn’t want to hear his apologies or . . . anything else. This Death Watch conspiracy could be larger than she knew and, well, they hadn’t been able to multitask all their duties those years ago. She saw no reason to invite greater hurt by trying again.

Checking the blaster’s charges, Satine moved through the underbrush and slid down the slight slope toward the entrance of the facility. She turned on her comlink and tapped the control panel to open the door. It slid open with a low hum and she slipped inside, frowning slightly. There was no mistaking that this area wasn’t as abandoned as she’d been led to believe— especially on the dilapidated moon, resources couldn’t be wasted.

Satine peeked around the corner. The barely refined walls had support beams built into them, dim maintenance lights the only source of lighting. Satine looked down. Well, at least they didn’t cast long shadows. She moved down the corridor, listening intently for anything.

She made it to the main refinery room without running into anyone. As she rounded the corner though, she heard raised, harsh voices and the crackle of comms. 

Satine hefted the blaster, quietly clicking the safety off. She pressed her back to the wall, listening to a few— perhaps three? — voices. Their voices had the mechanical crackle of being processed through a helmet.

“— activity down at the main facility—”

“ — copy. We’re expecting the Duchess—”

Satine frowned and edged closer. 

“— firefight may break out. Evacuate reinforcements to the second location.”

“Understand. Boss sent this one out?”

“Boss said to stand by.”

“Right. Will the agent be assisting?”

“She’s on standby.”

“Copy that.”

Satine pushed herself further in the shadows when she heard a flurry of movement. Not a moment later, two men in Mandalorian armor stormed out, jetpacks strapped to their backs. She frowned— the design was outdated but the armor wasn’t. _Death Watch._

 _A boss . . ._ . Death Watch had a leader once again. She breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm her heart. This was larger than she had anticipated. Had her stubbornness allowed this lack of foresight to happen?

Satine pressed further back against the wall, covering the glow of her comlink anxiously. The noise had largely died down from the main room but she didn’t trust herself to not get found out if there was someone there. She waited a few more minutes in dead air before she looked around the corner. Deserted, but operational. 

Readying her blaster, she glanced around before making her retreat.

Satine’s heart was in her throat until the moment she slipped from the mine into cool night air. She looked around quickly— it seemed whoever had been around the area previously was now. She waited until she was under cover before speaking into her comlink.

“Obi-Wan, we need to go to the hanger, immediately. I fear something is happening,” she whispered.

His voice crackled through. “I heard. It won’t be wise for us to return the way we came through. Shall we continue to be split and meet up at the north entrance of the hanger?”

“Sounds good.”

“You’ve still got the blaster handy?” He asked.

Satine rolled her eyes, already beginning to move through the brush. For a Jedi who had seen all forms of monarchy, she was surprised he seemed to keep assuming she was some helpless damsel. “Of course. You haven’t dropped your lightsaber?”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Sorry, I suppose that was a mindless question. I’ll meet you there.” He paused, “you know, for a pacifist, you’re quite good at using a blaster.”

“I was raised throughout a conflict that had been in the making for decades,” Satine dryly said. “I’m a pacifist, not stupid. I _did_ pick up some things other than politics.”

“Apologies,” came Obi-Wan’s equally dry response. Satine was relieved he couldn’t see the undignified grin that spread across her face. There was the wit she remembered.

When they neared the hanger, it became clear that they had missed the action. Still suspicious from what she’d heard in the mining facility, Satine reluctantly agreed to stay back as Obi-Wan stepped forward, lightsaber lit.

A haggard, but well, Governor Vizsla stepped out from the shadows, bearing a bloody lip. A few Mandalorian guards were behind him. The familiar helmets were suddenly quite comforting to Satine.

“Knight Kenobi!” Vizsla called out in relief. “Do you know where the Duchess is? We managed to secure the area, but she should leave Concordia now.”

“Will you and your men be alright to retake the moon? We believe some of the mining sites have been used, perhaps as bases or sorts,” Obi-Wan said, mediating tone in his voice. His back was to Satine so she couldn’t see his expression, but Vizsla’s furrowed in concern.

“That is truly a worrisome prospect, if Death Watch has managed to spread this much under our noses,” he shook his head slowly.

“You have heard nothing of Death Watch having an organized leader? Or perhaps an outsider working for them?” Obi-Wan scrutinized. 

“No, truly it’s embarrassing that we were overwhelmed so easily. But the fire that allowed them to catch us off-guard was simply a maintenance issue.” Vizsla sighed, “I’ll contact you if any more information comes.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his chin and finally nodded. He made the _all clear_ sign to Satine behind his back and she walked in from her hiding spot. She frowned at the few bodies she could see strewn about. Both Death Watch and Mandalorian. She wiped the expression for her face as she approached.

“Governor, I expect you have a ship prepared for our leave?” Satine coolly said.

Vizsla blinked in surprise at her but quickly covered it up with a strained smile. “Yes, Duchess. There are also a few of our more injured men on the ship.”

“Very well. I’ll have a squadron sent over to support you. I expect frequent updates,” she said, trying to hide the anger that was boiling underneath her skin now that the adrenaline was draining from her. _How could this have happened?_ What did she do wrong?

Obi-Wan was at her side as they boarded the ship. She smiled gratefully to the pilot as they took off. The sooner she could get back to her office and sort out . . . whatever this mess was, the better.

Satine looked to the other men on the ship. With a jolt she realized one of the men on a stretcher was Chief Almec.

“Almec! Stars, what happened to you?” she moved closer.

Almec shifted and hissed at the pain. “Duchess, it’s good to see that you’re well. One of the bastards dropped me into a crater. The fact that I didn’t wear full armor today didn’t help.”

Satine winced sympathetically. “Is it serious?”

“They won’t know until I get a body scan at the medcenter. Hurts like hell, though,” he tried to grin but it looked more nauseated. Satine didn’t doubt it— it took a lot to shatter Almec’s poise.

She smiled tightly. “Thank you, Almec.” _For helping me. For trusting me._

“Of course, Duchess.”

Satine moved through the transport, finally sitting with a sigh beside Obi-Wan. The ambush, leaving Vizsla and his men to fight, finding the Death Watch members in the mine . . . it weighed heavily. The Jedi had a dark expression on his face. 

“What is it?”

“Vizsla lied to me,” Obi-Wan said shortly, brow furrowed. 

“I don’t understand?” Satine questioned.

“I could feel his intentions throughout our conversation. The only thing he was genuine about was not knowing where you were,” Obi-Wan murmured so only Satine could hear him over the roar of the engine.

“I . . . still don’t understand,” Satine stumbled through her words. What purpose would Governor Vizsla have in deceiving her unless he had part in this?

“That and, er, I may not have had time to tell you, but I was there— at the explosion,” he said. Satine shot him her best _how am I not surprised_ look, but let him continue. “And any sort of blast analysis would show that that fire was not some ‘maintenance issue’. You Mandalorians keep notoriously efficient and well-kept facilities,” he said.

“Well, it seemed the fighting had just subsided. Perhaps Governor Vizsla hadn’t received updates on that situation during the fighting?” Satine tried. Vizsla also clearly hadn’t received any word about his mining facilities being used behind his back apparently either she thought bitingly.

“That doesn’t change the fact that his mind was filled with deceit and aggression. Toward _you_.” Obi-Wan looked at her with an unreadable expression. “Satine, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Satine was suddenly very aware that they were sitting right next to each other in a, frankly, crowded shuttle. She looked away abruptly.

“I know.” She finally forced out.

She really meant _thank you._


	6. INTERLUDE I: THE SITH INTERLUDE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we hop to the dark side. And also Anakin's perspective because that kid can't stay out of anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i LOVE writing pissy, confused palpy because he sucks and deserves it

For all intents and purposes, Sheev Palpatine should be immensely pleased. He had spent his life in the public eye, clawing his way up the political hierarchy in Naboo piece-by-piece despite their propensity toward _electing_ their monarchs. Now, he had finally managed to usurp his infuriating successor, Chancellor Valorum with the assistance of that foolish Amidala girl.

He should be pleased with himself and the various pawns he had set in motion.

But one piece had failed to act in a way that he could have anticipated and Sheev was equally flummoxed and infuriated.

Anakin Skywalker, the backwater, slave boy had dared to defy Sheev, unknowingly slighting generations of the galaxy’s most powerful Sith lords.

The boy, since Sheev had first sensed his potential in the Force, was irresistible. His spark burned ever so brightly, practically begging to be corrupted and twisted into something unrecognizable. As soon as Sheev had begun to hear of trouble in paradise— indeed, he’d practically cackled to himself at the thought of stern-faced Mace Windu trying to break in the boy as if he were some half-breed mare— he’d sent word to the Jedi Council. 

He had played his concerned, elderly grandfather card. Oh, yes, he was the ruler of a galaxy-wide to-be empire, but one was never too busy to take care of the next generation. At first, the Jedi had hesitated. Sheev had had to hold back his broad smile at the way Master Windu had balked and handed over his precious Padawan to the influences of _politicians_ (oh, if only he _knew_ , Sheev crowed).

But in the end, it had been Windu himself who had acquiesced, sullenly agreeing that the Senate _did_ have the right to oversee the Jedi Council and giving his Padawan to Sheev for the afternoon. Foolish Jedi and their _rules_.

It would have been a sweet, beautiful beginning to the dark side’s creep into young Skywalker’s mind.

Except for the fact that the child had come to Sheev with a pout that could rival his Master’s and it all went downhill from there.

“Chancellor, it’s good to meet you,” Skywalker had greeted with the proper formality, but his mutinous expression said he was anything but.

“Young Skywalker,” Sheev had flashed his kindliest smile. “How have your studies been going? I hear it’s quite difficult to train as Jedi.”

They began to walk down the corridor. Sheev had hoped that the magnificent architecture, especially in comparison to the rather drab Jedi Temples, would awe him. Unfortunately, most of his time around children had been when he himself was one on Naboo and this had not had quite the impact he’d desired from Skywalker. It appeared that the standards for appreciating the fine arts was different from Nubian high society and Tatooine.

“Yeah, it kind of is.” The boy had petulantly said, clearly not enthused to share anything.

Sheev had internally gnashed his teeth. He would have to be a bit blunter than he had hoped to be. Ah well, he had figured— not all the cards were in subtlety.

He had good information that young Skywalker was sensitive about the way, especially authority figures, viewed him. 

Once a slave boy, always a slave boy.

He forced out a good-natured laugh. “Your Master must be proud of the progress you’ve made?” Sheev had nodded, sure of himself. If he knew anything about the crotchety Jedi, it was that they were long and far in-between any sort of praise. What with their fear of attachment and all.

Skywalker had paused, no longer following Sheev. When had he turned around, the boy had a consternated expression on his face. “What do you want from me?” he’d asked suspiciously.

Sheev blinked. _What?_ He then tried to subtly probe Skywalker’s mind for some sort of explanation of why he was acting so . . . _paranoid_. The boy was supposed to become distrusting of the Jedi! Sheev had given him no reason to suspect him! 

But he couldn’t break past the boy’s meager, but sufficient, mental shields without the boy noticing.

“My boy,” Sheev had then tried to act more familial, less like an authority figure coming down on him. The child surely missed his mother, who he knew from the Jedi reports had been left to rot on the planet. Perhaps Sheev could take up a paternal role in the boy’s life. 

“Surely it is of no consequence for me to wonder how one of the Temple’s most promising young Jedi is progressing?”

At this point, Skywalker had frowned in deep concentration. “So you don’t need me for any Senatorial duties?”

Sheev paused, “if you wanted to assist me—”

Skywalker’s expression had shuttered to something unreadable. “I think I’ll be returning to the Temple now. I have a lot of studies to work on. Thank you, Chancellor.” He’d said with that insolent, child voice that _dared_ to dismiss himself.

But to insist would have destroyed any possibility Sheev had to groom the boy to be his replacement apprentice for the one that had been chopped in half and the dithering old man.

Sheev had instead forced his more benign smile on. “Of course, I understand you must be quite busy, young Skywalker. I hope we shall meet again.” 

He had then walked back to his office alone in a rage, clenching his fists to hide any sparks that might have escaped.

* * *

“He was giving me really creepy vibes and you had already told me to be on guard around politicians, plus Master Windu said ‘the relationship between the Jedi and Senate is an important one that must not be imbalanced’,” Anakin finished with a scarily good impression of Master Windu.

Through the holo-projection, Obi-Wan tiredly rubbed his hand over his face. “So, you just stood up the literal Chancellor of the Senate, Anakin?” Anakin felt his expression fall. _Obi-Wan didn’t believe him—_ but then the young man continued. “But I am very glad you trusted your instincts, though it would be good for you to remember that tact and diplomacy are just as important.”

Anakin sighed, flopping back in his bed. “ _I know_ , but he was just so _patronizing._ It was like when Watto would tell me I scrubbed the new parts wrong and would make me do it over again just to show that he could except I _asked_ him and the Chancellor said he had nothing he wanted me to do. He just wanted to _talk_.”

In the desert, talking was only for wheelers-and-dealers or the storytellers. And the Chancellor didn’t seem like a storyteller.

“And what did you say this was a punishment for?” Obi-Wan asked mildly.

Anakin scowled. “Because I got mad at some other initiates since they said I was a slave to my emotions so I got angry and stole their lightsabers.”

The holo of Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “You _do_ see the irony in that, don’t you, Anakin?”

“Yes . . .” he sighed, burying his face into his blankets. “But, _Obi-Wan_ , I’m not a slave anymore— I’m _free_.” The words still gave him a bit of a thrill. There was still the guilt, but at least now he felt like he was _growing_. Soon he could truly help people.

“ _And_ because I had to walk back to the Temple since Master Windu said it’s ‘unbecoming’ when I run everywhere, I wasn’t able to start learning Soresu that day,” Anakin bemoaned. 

Master Windu had also told Anakin that he should learn to meditate his frustration to the Force. Anakin had reluctantly told his Master that he still talked to Obi-Wan and couldn’t that count as meditation since Obi-Wan was always so _calm_. Windu had added in extra meditation sessions at that request, but allowed Anakin to continue the calls. He was secretly glad— as frustrating Master Windu could be, he wouldn’t want to go behind his back.

Obi-Wan gave a small smile. “You know, Anakin, once you’ve tried out all of the forms, you'll be able to decide which one you’d like to specialize in. For instance, I spent most of the later years as a Padawan improving my Soresu.”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ I want to specialize in Soresu, then!”

Obi-Wan chuckled and Anakin noticed that it was far more pleasant than the Chancellor’s laugh.

“I would wait until Master Windu has shown you the other forms,” Obi-Wan said with a knowing smile.

Anakin groaned. He was so tired of waiting!

“And whatever form you choose, I’ll spar with you,” Obi-Wan promised.

“Yes!”

* * *

Golden rays of sunlight streamed over the forests of Serenno, turning the mountains and tips of the trees into a sea of fire.

Dooku raised his glass of Corellian brandy, watching the way the light refracted and scattered through the drink. Although he didn’t miss his days on Coruscant or the blithering fools of the Republic that centered themselves in the Core Systems, he had to admit they produced fine liquor.

The Count rarely drank, but today was a special occasion. An unfortunate one.

Sifo-Dyas, a good man and his clan brother, was dead.

Dooku tipped the glass back and sipped it, the brandy burning slightly on the way down. It had been what was necessary, he told himself. While the Republic thought it prudent to let millions die for the sake of the few rich and wealthy, Sifo-Dyas had died so that many more would live.

As Dooku, he secretly wondered to himself if his friend would have lived had he not told Dooku of his concerns about the Jedi and Republic. But it was those concerns and clear-sightedness that had made them such close friends to begin with. Alas, he had not seen Dooku for what he was. 

As Darth Tyranus, Sifo-Dyas merely had been a convenient tool in creating the army that would power the military complex of the Republic. His attachment had been a weakness.

As Darth Tyranus, he had no such shortcomings, regarding everyone with suspicion, even his Master. His paranoia was his bed, his slow-boiling rage his meal.

Dooku activated the secure comlink on his desk. A heavy-browed man stared at him, waiting. “I’d like to speak with the head of the Banking Clan,” Dooku slowly intoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just love the idea of anakin and obi-wan facetiming and gossiping ok


	7. VI: THE FIRST TRIAL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Windu and Anakin prepare for their first field trip, conversations are had, and Obi-Wan is an insomniac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! thank you for the support on this fic :) it means a lot!  
> i'm very nearly done w writing this beast (hence the total chapter mark), but i'll try to reign myself in and keep to weekly updates so this stuff can be somewhat edited ;) writing this has kind of kept me sane and i hope y’all are doing alright!  
> i also made a series for this fic bc there's a lot more in this universe i plan on expanding on (into the clone wars) bc damn if season 7 isn't giving me serious feels
> 
> also, note! obi-wan and anakin's timelines are slightly off from each other but should uhh mostly be chronological. just keep in mind not all this stuff is happening at the same time ;)

Anakin was starting to think the Jedi had a lot more in common with the desert than they realized. Sure, they didn’t throw sand his way, but sometimes he felt Master Windu could be just as temperamental as the shifting dunes. Not to mention the feeling after his practice sessions with the remote droids were so full of aches he felt as though he’d been left out in a sandstorm. 

At this point, Anakin wasn’t sure if he would rather be buffeted by sheets of sand or the numerous tomes Windu always managed to dig out of the vast Jedi libraries.

“To make up for your many years as a youngling” Master Windu said. “To prolong his suffering” Anakin internally countered.

But, despite the pains and mind-numbing textbook readings, time passed. A few weeks into his Padawan studies, Anakin was shoveling his dinner into his mouth in the cafeteria, looking over blueprints of the latest starfighter model. 

Anakin usually sat alone because, as loathe as he was to admit it, he was so far behind the other Padawans his age he rarely went into group lessons with others his age. Instead, he was stuck at an awkward phase where he would be in basic control classes with younglings yet he’d progress so quickly he’d never had a chance to make friends with any of the initiates he met there.

It was fine, Anakin insisted to himself. He didn’t need friends his age. He had Obi-Wan and someday he would see mom and Kitster again and he would make them all proud. Heat crept to his face whenever he thought about Padmé. He wasn’t quite sure how impressive dusty books would be to ruling a planet, but he’d do his best.

He became aware of familiar brown Jedi robes in the peripheral of his vision. Anakin looked up, mouth full of bread. Master Windu stared down at him with a nonplussed look, somehow still not used to Anakin’s antics.

“Tomorrow we will be setting off to Ilum, where you will take your first test as a Padawan.” his Master finally spoke.

Anakin blanched. “What kind of test?” 

“It’s a long-held Jedi tradition called the Gathering. It tests each younglings’ resourcefulness and problem-solving abilities,” Master Windu explained. “And when you leave, you should have found your kyber crystal—”

 _Kyber crystal._ As in, the powerful gems that were used to make _lightsabers_. Oh, sign Anakin _up_ , this beat books any day. “You mean I’ll be making my lightsaber?” Anakin nearly jumped from his seat. Maker, they should go now— 

Windu raised a reproachful eyebrow and Anakin reigned himself in. “Indeed,” Windu finally said. “But let’s focus on the crystal first, shall we?”

* * *

Almec’s smile was strained. He was propped up in a hospital bed. It was strange to see him in a free-flowing gown rather than his usual crisp uniforms.

Satine stepped forward, uncertain. It was disconcerting to see the man who had helped and advised her for so long looking so . . . frail. “You wanted to see me?” 

Almec steepled his fingers in front of him. “Indeed. I’ve gotten the results from my comprehensive scan and it appears my spine was fractured during the fighting. Even with bacta treatment and surgery, it will take months for the remaining damage to fully heal.” Almec sighed. “This is why I’ve decided to tender my resignation as your chief of police.”

Satine felt as though the floor dropped out from under her. “Pardon?”

Almec looked wry. “I’m not as young as I used to be—

“Nonsense!”

“ _So_ I was wondering if I would have your support to run as your prime minister for this upcoming election cycle.” Almec finished, a faint smirk on his face as he watched the realization dawn on Satine. 

She blinked slowly, a grin spreading.

“You want to run for office?” Satine asked, delighted. “What a splendid idea! The people would certainly support you— you have the experience, you’ve served effectively for so many years— of course, I would support you, Almec.”

He dipped his head. “Then I would be proud to continue serving beside you, Duchess.”

* * *

Somehow, the anticipation flooding Anakin’s veins had an opposite effect and calmed him. The jittery energy that led him to fiddle with the nearest mechanism was gone and he managed the meditate for nearly half of their first day in hyperspace. 

Anakin reached out with the Force, exploring the corners of the shuttle and the mechanics that made it work. It felt like the electrons in the wiring leaped from the panels to under his skin and Anakin could _understand_ the ship. It was different than the gritty underbelly of his homemade podracer, yet similar in so many ways. 

Beyond the mechanics, he felt his attention tug toward the center of the shuttle, where it felt like there was a planet tugging him inward. He touched the energy cautiously and realized with awe that it was Master Windu. Windu’s mind was like a well of light that poured out and immersed Anakin in a nearly suffocating calm. His presence was so solid it nearly felt as though he was fixated in this precise part of the universe. It was strangely comforting to realize that _this_ was Anakin’s Master.

Master Windu expressed approval of Anakin’s progress in meditation, to which he immediately asked to be able to pilot the starship. There was a resounding _no_.

Surprisingly, when Anakin’s nervous energy began to rear its head again, Windu agreed to play a round of Dejarik. There was a musty set of the game in one of the ship’s storage compartment and Anakin eagerly set it up, watching the creatures flicker to life above the board.

Anakin had played Dejarik and every local variant of it on Tatooine. The one thing slavers loved more than slavery was gambling. He was certain he could defeat Master Windu at _this_ , at least. 

Anakin proceeded to be defeated not once, but _thrice_ by Master Windu.

The man would stare at Anakin during his moves, silent expression seeming to skeptically ask _do you really want to do that?_ at every turn before Windu absolutely destroyed another one of his pieces. His K’lor’slug gave an especially pitiful squelch before being pounded into the board.

Anakin resisted the urge to slam his head multiple times into the Dejarik board.

“Dejarik is a strategy game designed to test the mind and character. The game was originally created by the Jedi to instruct Padawans.” Master Windu finally explained his uncanny ability. “You can learn a lot about your opponent by playing. For instance, I can tell that you are still impatient and reckless.”

Anakin bowed his head, resisting the urge to shout back. Not everything had to be a teachable moment— sometimes Anakin just wanted to play a board game. But it was like Obi-Wan said— he had to control himself.

“But I can also see that you’ve grown a lot since you became my Padawan. Your indomitable spirit remains and that strength of character that is important for Jedi,” Windu said, a tone that sounded suspiciously like fondness seeping through.

Anakin looked up dubiously, “really?”

“Let’s work on your basic katas again, shall we? I noticed yesterday your form II is getting sloppy,” Master Windu abruptly said, standing up from the board.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin automatically followed. But even that comment didn’t feel like it had the normal scrutiny of before.

* * *

Obi-Wan had an issue.

He couldn’t sleep.

At first, he had thought it was because, while just as ascetic, Mandalorian accommodations were decidedly more comfortable than the Jedi Temple’s. Having a bed that he could actually sink into was a largely novel experience and could occasionally feel like drowning. 

But no, the sheets weren’t his problem.

Obi-Wan had considered everything. Perhaps it had been his change in diet? Or the frequent patrols with Satine were cutting into the time he had to meditate? But even as he tried to meditate in his bed before going to sleep, he found his thoughts wouldn’t settle as they normally would.

Jedi normally wouldn’t dream outside of impressions given to them by the Force. To dream was a bad sign, perhaps an indication of the dark side’s seductive hold. Indeed, Obi-Wan had heard whispers of Master Sifo-Dyas going missing, some of the more derisive Jedi he knew muttering that it had only been a matter of time until the Master with a screw loose lost it.

But coming on two weeks of waking up, drenched in sweat and the weight of his master in his arms, Obi-Wan was starting to realize he needed to confront this issue. He had to sit himself down and meditate until this issue was resolved.

Perhaps the Force was attempting to tell him something? Master Qui-Gon had been searching after a way to join with the Force, the Living Force, he had called it. Was this Qui-Gon reaching out to him?

He shook his head. No, surely, his Master would choose a method less painful than one that had Obi-Wan biting into his blanket to muffle strangled screams in the middle of the night? It wasn’t that he could remember the dreams enough to understand any sort of message hidden within.

All he could recall with certainty that he had been back in the palace, in the room with the pit, and yet he had been boiling hot, as if submerged in a bonfire. Someone had been watching him— the horned man?

Obi-Wan sighed to himself. His thoughts would spiral in circles, new worries appearing as soon as he managed to take one and acknowledge it, releasing it into the Force. Instead, he was left feeling strangely empty and yet distracted by his thoughts.

He slipped on an outer robe over his sleep clothes. Perhaps a walk would do him good. There was . . . something muddling his mind.

Obi-Wan slipped outside of his room, moonlight washing the hallway in a gentle glow. He padded silently through the corridor, feet taking him in any direction. 

The night air felt good through his sweaty locks and he brushed his fingers through them. He’d been letting them grow out since getting his braid cut. He’d gotten used to it but it was still strange to not have the haircut. But perhaps that was fitting, too. His Padawan braid had belonged to a different time, when he had been able to ask his Master for advice.

Obi-Wan hadn’t always taken Qui-Gon’s advice, far less than he should have, and now he would never know . . . so many things. Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, trying to calm himself. _He wasn’t ready— what if Satine was hurt? Anakin was better off without him. He should have been sent to the AgriCorps— he wasn’t_ ready _._ He didn’t know what he would do if Satine was hurt. 

So busy in his wallowing, Obi-Wan nearly ran into a person in the shadows on the veranda. He paused in his movement, tensing. The clouds shifted and the moon shone down on . . . _Satine?_

Obi-Wan must have made a sound of surprise because Satine turned around abruptly, face taut. It relaxed at the sight of him.

“Obi-Wan,” she greeted tiredly. “I take it you could not sleep either?”

Hesitantly, Obi-Wan took the invitation to join her. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how he stood with her at this point. At some moments it felt just like before, when he’d dropped her and she had laughed it off. It felt like when he had considered leaving the Order for her. Other times, their respective masks came in place and he wasn’t sure what to think.

This, he was sure, was Satine’s without her mask. She stood, leaning against the railing in her nightgown and her hair mussed slightly.

 _Beautiful_ , came the unwelcome thought again.

“No, I couldn’t. Is this a regular occurrence for you?” Obi-Wan asked, scanning her face for exhaustion. She didn’t look _too_ tired, he thought.

“More and more as of late,” Satine sighed, rubbing her face.

He gave a wry smile, “well, it certainly doesn’t show. Can’t say the same for myself.”

“Concealer, darling,” Satine dryly answered. She blinked, the endearment had been unintentional, and they stared at each other for.

“You’ll have to share me the brand you use, then,” Obi-Wan forced himself to respond rationally before his loosened mouth said something stupid.

“Makeup for a man? My, the Jedi are getting progressive,” Satine teased.

“You’d be surprised at what Coruscant’s fashion scene is like nowadays,” he bantered back.

They fell into a comfortable lull in conversation, watching the way the moon cast shadows onto the desert planes outside the city. In the darkness, the sand almost looked like a still sea, Obi-Wan thought.

Satine broke the silence.

“Do you think I’m doing right in sticking to my pacifist stance?” she asked, voice sounding strangely small.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan automatically said. He had been surprised when he’d first learned the female heiress of a warrior tradition was uncompromisingly laying down war, but he’d respected it. He still did.

“Am I doing right by my people, though? In the past weeks, there have been more bombings. None too serious, but I cannot help but wonder . . . am I not falling into the same stubborn trap that led my ancestors to war by refusing to act?” Satine’s hands fiddled together in front of her. “My father . . . Duke Adonai Kryze— the people called him weak for letting Mandalore descend into the clan wars.

“I don't much care about what others think of my rule, but I have to believe that I am strong for doing this but what if I’m _not?_ ” Satine sounded broken at the prospect.

Obi-Wan felt something ache in his chest, watching his friend suffer. “Satine,” he finally said, softly. “You were the one who taught me that nonviolence is anything but passive. You are the strongest person I know.” 

Unconsciously, he’d stepped forward and they were nearly touching, face to face.

“I think hate is another way for people to manifest feelings of hurt. But you have embraced all Mandalorians— that’s _powerful._ The people will see that,” he said earnestly.

This was different from the other debates he’d gotten into traveling with Master Qui-Gon, convincing opposing sides to his own. The words came easily to him because, well, he _believed_ them. He believed in Satine and in that moment he wanted nothing more for her to see herself in the same light.

Satine shifted away.

“Did I ever tell you about my sister?” she abruptly changed the subject, looking away.

Obi-Wan shook his head. He’d only known about Satine’s nephew, Korkie, who was currently driving his minders insane with all the ways the young boy managed to sneak out of school.

“Bo . . . I— it was years ago. When we were teenagers, before you came to Mandalore and the war broke out.” Satine trembled. “When the war broke out, we had to go into hiding. And Bo disappeared. I let her down.” She wiped at her eyes, turning to Obi-Wan. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear all of this nonsense.”

“Satine, I’m glad to help you.” Obi-Wan smiled wanly. How many times Satine had the opportunity to be honest with someone?

Having been raised in the Creche, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he had biological siblings. But his fellow younglings and, later, Padawans had been like his family. They had taught him just as much as any Master and Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how he’d have felt if they had disappeared.

Satine twisted her hands, looking down. “If I continue down this path, what if more people are hurt? Almec— Almec was _injured_ so badly and if people were to die—” 

Obi-Wan hesitantly placed his hand on her shoulder. “Almec knew what he signed up for. All of your guards did. And I can’t promise anything about people getting hurt, but _I_ know what I signed up for when I came here. I told you— I won’t let anything happen to you and I’ll do my damn best to do the same for you people.”

He wasn’t sure who initiated, but he was pulled into a hug, and he wrapped his arms around Satine more securely. It was . . . nice.

His thoughts felt calmed around her— suddenly his indecisions were gone and it was not a matter of _if_ he was strong enough— he _would_ be strong enough. For Satine. 

Brushing his mind against the link that had sprung up unbidden between the two of them, Obi-Wan reassured himself that Satine had relaxed as well, that this was helping her. He breathed in lightly, painfully aware of his breath. She smelled faintly of flowers, perhaps a shampoo. A tiny part of him reveled in the idea that she might want . . . _this_ as well. A larger part of him felt ashamed at the thought. He was simply comforting a friend, this was no time for Obi-Wan’s mind to take advantage of her emotional state.

Jedi could not have attachment.

Finally, they moved apart from each other.

“Thank you, Obi,” Satine said softly, hand resting on his chest. There was a new, or perhaps old, fondness back in her eyes that made Obi-Wan more pleased than he wanted to admit.

One last fond smile and Satine excused herself back to her chambers. The air was cold without her presence.

Obi-Wan stayed on the balcony for a while longer, watching the stars twinkle through Mandalore’s thin atmosphere. Mandalorians believed that their ancestors turned to stardust, watching over their fellow warriors in battle. Despite Satine’s complicated relationship with her people’s traditions, Obi-Wan had seen her while they were on the run looking at the night skies while Qui-Gon tended to the fire, a prayer on her lips. 

It was truly beautiful. And Obi-Wan was truly stupid.

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan breathed into the night air.

He was really, really fucked. And he needed to contact the Jedi Council.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh feelings are hard to write y'all


	8. VII: JETTI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin takes a test and Obi-Wan tries to bail. Windu isn't pleased (but that's not new).
> 
> Jetti - [Mando'a] jedi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy post-star wars day!
> 
> if it wasn't obvious already, i absolutely love fialleril's tatooine slave culture au and there are several nods to it throughout this fic plus some of my own made-up lore
> 
> [tw] panic attacks

Anakin had a bad feeling when they had finally come out of hyperspace. About the trial itself he wasn’t _too_ concerned— if he managed to endure Master Windu reciting the creation of the Jedi Order he was pretty sure he could handle finding a crystal. How hard could it be?

But then the planet burst into view and it was very clearly _covered in ice._

Bantha poodoo.

Master Windu pulled from a bag two fur coats— _evidently_ he’d known where they were going was an icy ball of death and hadn’t thought it prudent to warn Anakin— and gave him one, pointedly ignoring the look of betrayed reproach his Padawan shot him.

Just looking at Ilum made Anakin want to crawl into a hole and never come out. He pulled the coat on.

Sure, space could be cold and inhospitable to some, but there was the thrill of being in _space_. There was control in being able to pilot a ship.

But, the cold was just _cold_. It sucked the marrow from your bones and ached and gnawed at the rest of you for more.

Anakin became distinctly aware that Master Windu was talking.

“— you’ll want to reach out with your senses once inside the Crystal Caves to find the kyber crystal that is the right one for you. There are many crystals, but there is only one that will resonate with you.”

He blinked. “That’s it?” He asked incredulously.

Master Windu gave one of his _oh, my wearisome Padawan_ looks. “You will find within the cavern that it is not so simple. Not to mention, you only have as long as daylight lasts. If you’re inside for longer, the cavern will seal shut and tradition dictates that I am unable to aid you.”

Anakin turned back to the window to hide the fact he could feel the blood draining from his face. But turning around meant he was also forced to visually confront Ilum. He tried to ignore the way his stomach was flopping as they descended through the atmosphere. He knew he would have felt better if he’d been allowed to pilot the landing.

This wasn’t so bad, Anakin tried to tell himself as ice crystals froze themselves against the window.

This wasn’t so bad, Anakin tried to tell himself as the ship shuddered to a stop in fresh snowfall and darkness.

This wasn’t so bad, Anakin tried to tell himself as they trudged through knee-high snow to the temple where the Crystal Caves were.

Then he misstepped, barely avoided face planting in the snow, and also got a boot full of the horrible wet slush. It quickly warmed next to his body, turning his boot into a walking puddle.

This sucked, Anakin concluded.

“Master Windu,” he huffed, stumbling slightly behind his Master. “Say, as a hypothetical, I _did_ get trapped. I would be . . . fine, right?” Anakin would probably lose a toe or something, but he could _survive_ a night in this hellscape. It was basically a frozen desert. Except no matter how cold Tatooine got at night, it never froze his nose hairs. 

Windu looked at him, unimpressed. “The nights on Ilum are 19 days long. Let’s hope you continue your trend of being a quick learner.”

“Oh,” Anakin said weakly, not quite sure how to process the, firstly, horrible news, and, secondly, the third kind-of compliment Master Windu had given him in the past few days. Certainly, the last time had been right before and after Windu had wiped the floor with him in Dejarik, but it was . . . nice. Maybe Master Windu did have faith in him.

Maybe he could do this.

Then they approached the solid wall of ice that extended to the looming ceiling and Anakin’s legs turned to jelly. 

“This trial is known as the Gathering. It’s typically performed by younglings as a part of their trials to become a Padawan, and is normally done in groups. However, you prove to be unusual once again— this challenge will be yours alone,” Master Windu spoke. He raised his hands and a circular window at the top of the cave slid open. The first rays of sunlight shone into the cavern, amplified by the smooth stone and ice crystals.

“Your lightsaber is the tool with which you protect others. Your kyber crystal focuses the Force from within you and allows your lightsaber to become a part of you,” Windu said.

For a moment, Anakin was struck with the idea that if it had been Windu and not Master Qui-Gon who had come to Tatooine those months ago, perhaps everyone would have walked free. Master Windu was a good man.

“You must trust the Force, and yourself,” Windu gestured for him to enter the cavern. “When you’re ready, Padawan Skywalker.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin nodded. He stepped forward, unsure at first, gaining confidence until he was bounding up the stairs.

He could do this.

Anakin stepped into the darkened passageway, the only light from cool sunlight from behind him. He resisted the urge to look behind him— well, this was going to be interesting. He marched forward, hands feeling worryingly empty. There was a carved archway that led to a corridor of columns with frost-coated designs. _Jedi symbols?_ He shook his head— he had to focus.

He was pretty sure _no one_ could survive 19 days in this place.

He became aware of a faint light in front of him. The icy tones made him feel as though he was underwater. Anakin traced the wall as he walked forward, feeling the ice scrape beneath his fingernails. Well, if he was trapped down here, he could alternate between worrying if he was (rationally) going to freeze to death or (irrationally) drown. How strange that he’d never really contemplated drowning before. He’d never seen enough water to consider it before.

Before Anakin knew it, he was at a crossroad, several arches with the same look at the first one, ethereal lights glowing above each of them. He frowned, unsure. 

No particular passage seemed to _call_ to him. Were they supposed to?

Three passageways . . . . Anakin doubted he would have time to explore them all. Not to mention, what would happen if he found his crystal but ended up getting lost and dying in the caverns anyway?

“Agh!” Anakin cried in frustration, spinning around aimlessly. He couldn’t _think—_ he was too cold.

 _Do you remember that feeling you had when you podraced?_ Obi-Wan’s voice came to him. The feeling of the broken jumbles of wires in his hands, the focus . . . _that was it._

Anakin plopped himself on the ground between the three doors, trying to ignore the uncomfortable hardness of the ice. He fished in his robes and grinned in satisfaction— his comlink. There was a problem he had, he just needed to solve it. Just like Obi-Wan’s comlink. 

Every problem had a solution.

He closed his eyes, disassembling the comlink. He didn’t have any signal inside the caves anyway— he tried to relax his mind.

He was aware of the cold, slightly wet press of the rock beneath him. Wider, he could distantly feel the twisting tunnels around him, connecting to the doors that lay in front of him. Wider still, and he could faintly feel the hum of the planet itself, the mystical energy of the place, the life force breathing through the trees. There was the fainter pull of Master Windu’s presence, but Anakin moved his mind away from him. Further, deeper.

Then, as if some gate had been unlocked in his mind, something clicked and he could hear _voices._ Anakin fell back against the floor, thrashing against the sudden flashes of pain.

 _Skywalker! Skywalker!_ The voices hissed, the same icy, white-hot feeling as that day at the Temple gripping him. Anakin banged his head against the floor, ice seeming to stab his lungs with every breath.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Anakin moaned, sweat beading on his brow despite the cold air. It felt as though explosions were bursting behind his eyelids and yet there was so much _dark_. He tried to desperately slam his mental shields down, but they were too weak.

 _You will join us_ , the voices cackled.

 _He was being chained down— there was a collar around his throat— the grit of sand in his teeth, in his veins, in his_ bones _._

 _Dry and unyielding— all in the desert fall to their knees,_ the voices promised, humming.

No—

Anakin writhed on the ground, unable to control the shaking in his limbs, whether from the cold or the voices, he wasn’t sure. Whatever those voices were— those weren’t a part of any sort of future Anakin wanted as a Jedi.

_You are free, Anakin._

_I’m agreeable to finding an alternative title for you to address me as. I just want you to understand that that was never the intention of the Jedi—_

_Listen to your feelings— Ani, you know what's right._ A sob burst from his throat and his arms shook as he struggled against the invisible force. _Mom—!_

He ripped himself up from the floor, fingers raw and red from scabbling at the ice. 

“ _I am Anakin Skywalker!_ ” He screamed hoarsely into the caverns. Anakin’s voice echoed around him and he swallowed down his fear. “ _I am free!_ ” He shouted.

He was free because the people he loved most in the world had fought for it and told him so. He was free because he felt it in his bones that he was meant to walk untethered— 

_He was free._

The shrieking voices vanished, leaving Anakin’s ears ringing in the frigid air.

“I am Anakin Skywalker. I am free.” He repeated to himself, trying to calm his heart. He wouldn’t be bound by anything— not a master, not his fear. He knew he could feel too strongly, but he was working on it. 

Anakin Skywalker was done being a slave.

He blinked the sweat from his eyes and looked up as a new humming approached him. It was coming from the passage on the rightmost. Were his eyes tricking him or was there light coming from the corridor?

_Trust the Force and yourself._

Anakin pocketed his partially disassembled comlink and stepped forward, shakily at first.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker. I am free.” He whispered to himself, stronger. His senses had reoriented himself and there was a certain _rightness_ tugging him toward one of the paths.

Anakin stepped into the shadows.

* * *

Obi-Wan paced the length of his room back and forth anxiously. He held his comlink in his hand, doing his best to not crush it into a fist while he waited for his signal to send through. He breathed deep, trying to calm himself. _Your mind is a desert_ , he whispered to himself. 

_No affection can grow there._

A light flashed at him and a holoprojection of the Council appeared before him. 

“Have an update do you, Knight Kenobi?” Master Yoda greeted him, a knowing look in his wizened eyes.

Obi-Wan bowed his head, half in respect, half to try to hide the sudden rush of _feeling_ that came upon him. He choked back the nauseating sensation of shame. _There is no emotion, there is peace._

“Masters, I must request that I be replaced on this mission,” he forced out, relieved his voice didn’t waver. “I have deemed that I am . . . no longer suitable.” He buried his hands in his robes to hide their shake. Force, why was this affecting him so much? They were just _words_. 

The night before, he’d been so clear-sighted, so sure that he knew that what he was doing was correct and just and that, by the _Code_ , he could justify his actions. But he could not. Obi-Wan had no intention of letting this continue further. His attachment had to be ripped out by the roots before it worsened and Obi-Wan was left again _holding the body alone, with that lurking darkness—_

“Knight Kenobi, false you are,” Master Yoda broke through his thoughts. The Grand Master was leaning forward in his seat slightly, resting his hands on his gimer stick. “Could not tell you before could we. But for attachment we have sent you to Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan looked dubiously at the Masters. Set faces stared back at him stonily. The holovideo of Master Windu looked particularly displeased.

“I’m sorry?” he said, his own voice sounding strangled to himself. “This . . . _this_ was intentional?”

Yoda nodded solemnly. “Troubling visions of the future I have had. Sensed that Mandalore and you hold the solution I did.”

The projection of Master Windu spoke up. “Of course, Knight Kenobi, the Council expects you to keep the Code in mind. Frequent updates will be necessary as we decipher what the Force wishes to tell us.”

Somehow, Obi-Wan’s face managed to mold itself into one of calm acceptance. “Of course. I also believe that Death Watch has become organized, perhaps having outsider help.” 

“Troubling that sounds. However, focus on your true mission you must first, Knight Kenobi,” Master Yoda warned.

Obi-Wan bowed. “Yes, Master Yoda. I’ll be going now, then.” He could barely wait for the dismissal before he shut off his comlink and slammed it down on the dresser in his room.

His _true_ mission? People were going to get hurt— people were _already_ hurt and did the Council not _care_?

He backed away, breathing heavily.

 _Attachment_ — that was how the Code phrased it, always with requisite of it being forbidden. His whole childhood in the Temple, he had been taught to meditate, throwing his impulses away. His impulses now told him to scream.

Ironically, it had been under Qui-Gon’s tutelage that Obi-Wan had probably rebelled the most from the Code— _a Padawan must obey their Master._

_Fuck—_

Obi-Wan couldn’t breathe. There was a weight against his chest, pushing him into the ground. Nausea swept over him and he fell to the ground, arms trembling as they held him up.

_He was weak, he was weak—_

This only proved it. Obi-Wan wasn’t fit to protect Satine— he wasn’t fit to do . . . whatever the hell the Council was asking of him. Distantly, he remembered a younger self who had thought so confidently— _I would leave the Jedi Order for her._ Oh, where was that clarity now?

He kneeled over, pressing his flushed skin into the cool flooring. His short breaths heated up his neck. Was he dying? Was this what Master had felt when the blade of piercing red had sliced into him?

Obi-Wan had told himself that he was justified in being on Mandalore— the Jedi were peacekeepers who adhered to a Code so that there was accountability. They were different from the blind warmongers that made up Death Watch—

He lurched, empty stomach heaving. 

_Wrong, wrong—_ this all felt so _wrong_. How could he watch and sense so much suffering through the Force and yet be so helpless to stop it? How could he stay to the Code while actively breaking it? How could the Code demand he pervert his relationship with Satine? Obi-Wan wasn’t strong enough to take this path without his Master’s advice—

But Obi-Wan had _tried_ to communicate with Master Qui-Gon’s spirit, to get any sort of sign from the Force. Even trying to use the Force-sensitive stone Qui-Gon had given him had yielded no results. The cosmos had been silent to him.

“Why?” Obi-Wan cried to the silent room. “Why have you forsaken me, Master?”

He was on the side of that pit again in the underbelly of Theed, with grief and rage and the Force flooding through him. But, unlike then, there was no horned beast before him to cut down, no reason to climb from that pit again. He was _lost_ — the Code was the same words, the same mantra, yet it no longer offered comfort.

Crying was not the way of a Jedi. Crying belied emotion and _emotion_ was not the way of a Jedi.

He wiped his face, collecting himself. Took a deep, shuddering breath.

Obi-Wan sat on the floor. He was going to get an answer from the Force— from _anyone_. And he was going to wait until he got his damn answer.

* * *

On the other side of the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker sat in a position not unlike the young man who was almost his Master, arms stretched in front of him and a look of concentration on his face. The last piece clicked into place and the wiring shuddered slightly in the unassuming tool in his hands. He pressed the activation switch, reaching out with the Force.

Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber was as blue as his eyes and the desert skies under twin suns.

Behind him, Master Windu frowned, his thoughts elsewhere.


	9. VIII: MIRJAHAAL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's trouble in paradise and Anakin has a birthday. The two, actually, aren't related.
> 
> Mirjahaal - [Mando'a] peace of mind, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the support on this fic! also,, i finished TCW and man those final episodes...

Satine wasn’t sure where she had gone wrong. She had thought, that night on the balcony, there had been an understanding that had come between them. But, apparently, she couldn’t have been more wrong.

From that day, Obi-Wan barely left his room. After Satine’s initial hurt had worn away, concern set in and washed away the steadily burning irritation in her. She reluctantly had meals sent up to his room. By the end of the hour, the empty tray would be left back outside the door. Satine supposed she should be grateful that he was even eating— or at least was keeping up the appearance of it. To what ends, she wasn’t sure.

She supposed if she was truly angry, she could have sent a formal complaint to the Jedi Council at any time. But she couldn’t find the will in her to muster up such an objection. As much as she respected the Jedi, Obi-Wan was dealing with something and they hadn’t helped already. Satine didn’t like the idea of dragging him down the worn path. But she had more things to worry about than her suddenly reticent Jedi.

On Mandalore, there had been a slight lull in the criminal activity, which only furthered Satine’s suspicions that there was something more happening on Concordia. Satine had tried to keep further tabs on Governor Vizsla after Obi-Wan had mentioned the sensation of deception he felt from the man, but it was hard to know who to trust.

If Vizsla, with all the background checks and hoops he had had to leap through, was hiding something, how could she be sure of anyone? And it wasn’t as though Obi-Wan was precisely offering his Jedi prowess for hire. So while bureaucracy took its time, Mandalorian elections were fast approaching and the Ruling Council seemed to have lost its political will. 

That they didn’t have much more evidence outside of Obi-Wan feeling in the Force— or rather, Satine insisting her reclusive Jedi had a  _ gut feeling _ — for a traditional people like Mandalorians, the claim didn’t exactly hold up.

Satine felt like her chain of command was crumbling to sand beneath her feet.

She had half expected when the next report came that she would be debriefing with Almec’s temporary replacement alone, but soft footsteps alerted her to her wayward guest’s reappearance. Officer Ude'tuun sensed the mood and stuck with cordial niceties. He was a young man, of a calm disposition and had greeted Satine with purpose the first time they had met, level-headed but earnest. Satine saw why Almec had been training him as his successor.

It was unfortunate that this was the side of Mandalorian politics that he was first seeing up close. Though it more felt like a petty, grade-school spat than politics.

Satine had turned, a sarcastic remark ready, when she turned and lost the train of thought.

Obi-Wan had looked like shit. His whole being seemed exhausted, with bags under his eyes and the barest scruff at his chin showing he hadn’t bothered to use the fresher in his accommodations. She’d wanted to grill him right then and there but for the Ude’tuun still standing with them.

Obi-Wan had taken Satine’s surprised silence to nod crisply in her direction, “Duchess,” and sit without a second glance her way. 

The report had gone without incident. As had the next one and next one. Each time, Obi-Wan would come down when summoned, almost like a wraith in his quiet listening. Satine’s well-meaning jest about his beard had only seemed to make his mood darker, rather than draw out the sharp wit she missed.

Not even the sounds of a small crowd of Mandalorian citizens were enough to draw him out. Perhaps Satine had been foolish to hope that he would come just to . . . what? Comfort her? 

_ Down with the Duchess! Down with her government!  _ The cries had rang in her ears.

But Obi-Wan’s eyes had remained withdrawn and haunted.

Was this for his master? Satine had wondered. She had thought that Jedi were not allowed such serious attachments— the reason why they had separated the first time. Her chest ached,  _ selfish _ , she chided herself. 

She could not condemn Obi-Wan for leaving when Satine had not let herself ask him to stay. He would’ve done so in an instant and she had seen how much purpose the Jedi Order had given him— she couldn’t bear that to take him away from that. She knew the empowering feeling when one was restored to the destiny one was meant to have.

Satine had found that in Mandalore, Obi-Wan with the Jedi. She’d told herself that.

Satine just wondered why her self-proclaimed destiny felt more like a burden when the disheartened chants of her people echoed in the quiet halls and the man she had told herself she didn’t love was slowly fading away in her palace.

Satine blinked.

Where had  _ that  _ thought come from?

She had distracted herself by imagining standing up and walking to the steps of her home, unfurnished but for her normal day clothes. She had imagined screaming herself hoarse to the faceless people,  _ can you not see I’m trying my best? If you have so little confidence in me, do you think you will fare better with a group that uses terror and violence to secure its rule? _ She had imagined kicking down the guest room that Obi-Wan stayed in and shaking the front of his robes and shouting, maybe crying.

Satine had sighed and sat back in her chair and did none of those things.

Her chest had felt strange, achy. It squeezed uncomfortably. Satine had closed her eyes and imagined ( _ remembered _ ) Obi-Wan’s arms around her.

Did she love him? 

Satine thought a part of her had always continued to hold affection for the fumbling boy that had given her a crescent-shaped scar on her left temple. She touched the mark idly, feeling for the more recent scar on her forehead. How fitting that Obi-Wan should give her head injuries, like all the jumbling thoughts in her mind manifested.

She had then imagined Obi-Wan’s dry voice, teasing but kind.  _ You were the one who taught me that nonviolence is anything but passive _ . She’d thought about the, franky adorable, expression of shock on his face after he saw her stun a soldier.

Perhaps she did love this Obi-Wan too. It would not change anything— he held no such feeling for her and, well, Satine had made a habit of letting Obi-Wan go seven years ago.

A week later, they repeated the same song and dance.

They didn’t talk on the way over.

At first glance, the scene seemed much the same as the previous ones. Satine gripped the side the transport in silent anger— in her most desperate moments, she could empathise with the growing protesters’ lack of faith in her government.  _ How _ had they not gotten any substantial leads so far? 

Governor Vizsla had mobilized the troops on Concordia and had rooted out several suspected members of Death Watch, but interviews had not gotten anywhere, what with Satine outlawing torture. Satine continued to believe torture did nothing— merely drove the recipients to the farest reachest of their minds, not precisely the most efficient techinque, but people would complain and point fingers all they liked, regardless of common decency. Just another nail to her political coffin, she supposed. 

Satine sent a message for the prisoners to be transferred to Mandalore. Perhaps they could do more here than they could on Concordia, what with Satine’s skepticism on the rise. She would be interested to see what “Death Watch” members had been caught.

Now of all times was when she didn’t need the team-of-two Obi-Wan and she had been building to collapse.

They stepped off the transport together to the sectioned-off area of the docks. Satine followed behind Ude’tuun who led them to the slightly smouldering skeleton of a storage warehouse. Obi-Wan trailed close behind, ever alert but reclusive.

The bombing was like the others: a blast radius that fell within the average recordings of the past incidents, the same materials of before, and just as many dead ends as before. But for one thing. She stopped walking when she realized Ude’tuun has paused speaking before her, a dark expression on his face. A scuff at her side alerted her that her ghost had stopped as well.

“There’s one thing. You saw that there was a casualty?”

“Yes. Was there more than what was in the report?” Satine questioned.

“Indeed,” Ude’tuun frowned. He activated a few projector drones that flew upward, displaying a more detailed analysis of the scene. “This is what we’ve managed to assemble from the blast marks. We have a potential subject, Ulrich Marks.”

A simulated timelapse of the event played out before Satine, blue-hued figures moving around the docks, people busy offloading. Then, around ten at night, a faceless figure, dressed in a maintenance uniform walked to their spot and an explosion blew through the image.

“So why were there not more . . . remains?” Satine frowned. All the previous explosives had been crudely built— the simulation hadn’t been clear but if someone had sabotaged the docks area, it was likely that any held bomb would have left . . .  _ something _ .

“That’s the thing,” Ude’tuun said, playing the footage back. He zoomed into the film and they watched it again. The figure walking, casually, unknowingly. Then, the explosion.

“The man  _ was _ the bomb.” Obi-Wan finished grimly, eyes focused on the screen. Satine stared at him for a moment then turned back to the projection.  _ Focus _ .

“Precisely,” Ude’tuun nodded.

Marks’ skin began to speckle and glow. The man rubbed his forehead, as if pained. They watched in muted silence as he jolted.

Satine averted her eyes when the poor man’s skin burst open.

“I see,” she finally managed to say around the lump in her throat. “Well, do we know how this happened? Did Marks act alone or was this connected to the others? What sort of bomb could do this?” 

To make someone explode from the inside out, as if their skin were turning to fire— it was no technology Satine had heard of.

“We’ve already been looking into it. For Marks himself, the explosive vaporized most of his skin upon detonation; however, some traces of DNA were still found at the scene, which is how we identified him.” Ude’tuun passed a datapad to Satine and she looked through it. “We’re doing analyses on the samples that we were able to get to figure out the chemical makeup of whatever he used.”

Satine nodded, “I want to know as soon as it’s known.” She opened Marks’ file. He was a Mandalorian citizen. He had been a Mandalorian citizen. For some reason or other, he thought it fitting to sabotage his own government and people. That or he was a part of a larger conspiracy— neither bode well.

“As for connections, Marks lived in public housing alone. He had no known associates off-planet and was generally liked. We met with his superiors and they had nothing to say about his behavior,” Ude’tuun said. 

“Thank you, Officer Ude’tuun. This is . . . troubling. Is there a possibility that following bombings could follow this pattern?” Satine asked.

“At this point, we don’t have enough information to draw conclusions,” he frowned. “I’m sorry, Duchess.”

“No, thank you for your work,” Satine gave a strained smile. “Well, we’ll let your men work. Please inform me of any updates.”

“Of course.” Ude’tuun bowed slightly.

On the way back to the palace, Satine considered asking Obi-Wan what his thoughts were. A few times previously he had at least given his thoughts. But when she turned to face him, all her public speech practice failed her in the face of his stony expression.

The feeling in her chest clenched again.

* * *

It was Anakin’s first life-day away from Tatooine. Away from mom. 

For once, he couldn’t mark the passage of his life by the rising of twin suns. Instead, the harsh morning light on Coruscant’s cityscape greeted him.

He placed his old robes from home, the rough-hewn fabric coarse against his palms, in front of him. It was a different sort of texture to his Jedi robes, which weren’t the most comfortable, but were more like carrying around a coarse blanket on his shoulders.

The old robes were the only thing Anakin had thought to take with him from Tatooine. Not that he’d had much of a choice, leaving the life he had known with nothing but the clothes on his back.

Anakin clapped his hands and bowed to the small pile slowly. One Tatooine, one always thanked their ancestors and those that came before them for the life that they had bestowed on one on their life-day. The robes weren’t much in terms of a family shrine, but it was as close as he could get, lightyears away from Tatooine.

Anakin clapped his hands and prayed to the twin suns that they had shone kindly upon his mom and Kitster and all of his friends left behind.

 _I’ll get stronger for you_ , he promised silently, lightsaber heavy on his belt.

He stood and packed the robes, surprised at the choked feeling that came up at the sight of the dusty robes being tucked away. Anakin hadn’t thought he would miss anything of the horrible place aside from his mom. 

_He was eleven now— he shouldn’t cry._ Anakin rubbed his face furiously. Time away from the desert had truly made him suspect to be on the verge of tears. What would Kitster think? He chastened himself. Breathing deeply, Anakin forced himself out the door.

Master Windu was expecting him for lightsaber practice in the training hall.

As he shoveled porridge in his mouth, Anakin couldn’t help but remember when he had stumbled upon his Master practicing. Anakin hadn’t even known a lightsaber could _be_ purple, much less move in such a gracefully, deadly manner. Windu had eluded all of Anakin’s pesterings about what form exactly he’d been doing. 

Anakin had been so awed he’d even willingly gone to the _library_. But most lightsaber techniques were highly guarded, to be passed from Master to Padawan, and not to be discovered by a relatively new, albeit enthusiastic, Padawan.

“I feel like he doesn’t trust me. Shouldn’t there be a two-way in this whole Master-Padawan thing?” Anakin had complained to Obi-Wan, who’d merely smiled amusedly.

“All in good time, Anakin,” had been his response.

 _Patience, patience_ was always Obi-Wan’s motto. Anakin sometimes wondered if he had ever just _done_ something because he’d wanted to rather than deliberate for hours beforehand. Obi-Wan looked like he might have fun if he ever tried it.

For Anakin, his persistence paid off in that Master Windu had finally gotten so fed up that he started teaching him Form IV, or Ataru in its stylized form. Much like when they had played Dejarik, the new katas had left Anakin utterly wiped by the end of the day, but he’d also learned something.

The form that Master Windu had been practicing that day wasn’t Ataru either.

Anakin entered the training hall, unclipping his lightsaber. Master Windu stood to the side, watching Anakin’s feet move through the now-familiar movements. Months of meticulous practice had made his back and arms strong in a way different from lugging around broken radiator parts for Watto had.

“Padawan Skywalker— lift your arms more on the upswing,” Windu’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin groaned, turning and feeling his arms burn as he warmed up. He closed his eyes, focusing on the moves.

Early on, Anakin had also tried to convince Master Windu to just call him Anakin, but even after their whole Master-Padawan talk, Windu remained serious. It was kind of like trying to break in a Bantha calf— one moment, Anakin would watch himself be destroyed in a “friendly” game of Dejarik by his Master, the next he was metaphorically kicking him in the face with critique.

Anakin continued the movements until he finished the sequence, his lightsaber humming in front of him in a downward slash.

“You’re getting faster at Ataru; however, need I remind you, Padawan, to _keep your eyes open_?” Master Windu scowled, crossing his arms.

Anakin winced. Right— there was that.

He hadn’t had this issue with any of the prior three forms. They had all flowed, defensive moves working together with offense in a face-paced rhythm.

When Anakin did Ataru, the aggressiveness of the form wrested away any attempt at defense and he found himself slipping into a trance. The moves _clicked_ in a way that the other forms hadn’t, even Soresu— as much as Anakin had tried. 

The only problem then was that Anakin had also fallen into the habit of closing his eyes whilst doing it.

“When practicing Ataru, you want to reach out with the Force to predict your opponent’s moves, even more so than the prior forms since you’re sacrificing your defense for speed. But that’s a lost cause if you can’t even see your own lightsaber,” Master Windu lectured.

“Then why did you have me practice blind at first?” Anakin sullenly asked.

Windu looked as if he were about to retort something when he simply shook his head and gave one of his sighs. He gestured for Anakin to sit beside him. “The Council has something they want me to look into so I’ll be traveling off-world tomorrow. It should only be for a week or two. I’ve asked Master Unduli to train you and she’s agreed to.”

Anakin tried to conjure up a face to match the name, but there were so many Jedi Masters, he pulled a blank. He frowned. “Why can’t I come with you, Master? You’ve said that experience is one of the most important ways for a Jedi to be challenged and grow.”

“And I still agree with that, but I decided that you are not ready for the mission,” Master Windu said, not unkindly. Anakin felt something burn in his chest. Shame, maybe. He half-listened to Windu. 

“Master Unduli specializes in Form III. Her defensive style will be a good way for you to practice Ataru further. I know you’ve been looking forward to beginning dueling.” His attempts at prodding Anakin almost made his soured mood worse.

“Very well, Master,” Anakin nodded and stood back up, brushing himself off. 

They ran through the steps of the Ataru kata a few more times before Master Windu brought out a deactivated remote droid. “Remember, your goal is to _catch_ the droid and improve your reflexes— not demolish it with your lightsaber,” he reminded Anakin before tossing the droid upward. The droid flickered the life and zoomed away.

Anakin scowled but followed the droid in pursuit, lightsaber still activated. Windu would let the droid follow its pre-programmed flight patterns of avoiding capture, occasionally pulling it in new directions with the Force.

Master Windu wanted him to get used to running and building his endurance while also not stabbing himself in the eye. Anakin had thought it was a pretty good idea until he’d gotten so frustrated he’d yanked the droid from Master Windu’s Force grip and sliced it in half. 

Windu had not been impressed.

This time, it only took half an hour for Anakin to kick off the wall, catching the droid unaware to tackle it to the ground. Master Windu gave an amused smile, “well done. You didn’t singe your robes this time, either.”

“ _Master._ ”

Before they paused for a break, Anakin wasn’t sure what compelled him to speak up.

“Master Windu, am I ever able to visit my mom?” He blurted. He had held back from asking because, well, there had never seemed like an available moment to ask. But with his life-day, he’d allowed himself to hope.

At the very least, Master Windu didn’t look irritated. Instead, his expression took on the strange, unreadable expression that Obi-Wan got whenever Anakin asked about his old life.

“Padawan Skywalker, you must learn to release your attachments. I expect your Ataru footwork to be cleaned when I return,” he finally said, turning to leave.

Anakin watched his Master leave, frustration stewing in his chest. He tried not to fall into a sulking mood— he had come so far from the him that hadn’t been able to sit for twenty clicks before bolting from Master Windu. He smiled a bit at that thought— he’d been so _fidgety_. Granted, Anakin still was, but the physicality of being a Jedi had given him a direction to release that energy.

But sometimes, he struggled to remember his mom’s features perfectly. Sun-worn, but kind. Anakin was scared of the day he might close his eyes and not remember.

But the warmth of his mom’s hugs or the way she would ruffle his hair— those were a part of his bones.

Anakin opened his eyes— he knew what he was going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Ude'tuun's name comes from the Mando'a root "ude" (calm) and the add-on of "tuun" which I've seen be used similarly to the suffix "-like" (e.g. Hutt'tuun is "coward", which I interpret to mean "Hutt-like").


	10. IX: IF I STAY HERE, I’LL NEVER LEAVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mace Windu goes on a field trip and Anakin is Anakin. Troubles emerge because it's them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we take a brief pause from our obitine angst for... more angst. this chapter is uh... hoo, boy. took me a while to edit. enjoy ;)
> 
> title is taken from "the sea of love" by the national, which is also where the name of this AU's series came from! i just feel like that album really encompasses the vibe i got goin' for this series :) this chapter is also very loosely inspired by the SW comic, emissaries to malastare but i really just used wookiepedia sorry y'all
> 
> [tw] graphic violence, mentions of past/ current slavery

Mace Windu sensed a disturbance with the Force, conveniently the moment he’d broken into hyperspace en route to Nar Shaddaa. It was Mace’s personal opinion that the Hutts in general should be weeded from the galaxy as a whole— one less monstrosity to terrorize the galaxy. But the compassion fostered by the Jedi encouraged him to see the Hutts as a species that deserved mercy and understanding.

Well, at least the Republic had drawn the line at the illegal smuggling ring that was suspected on the Hutt moon, Windu supposed. 

A moment later, he quickly had to utilize his Jedi compassion to resist the urge to shoot his _utterly stupid_ Padawan apprentice out the airlock.

“Padawan Skywalker,” Mace turned the corner to where his Force bond had led him. “If not for the fact that I had _explicitly_ told you that you were not to accompany me on this mission and instead study with Master Unduli, I would swear I could see you crouched behind storage containers.”

His Padawan extracted himself from behind the boxes, face carefully set. Mace would’ve been furious at his nonchalance if not for the waves of guilt he could feel through their bond. Guilt and determination. He looked like he was desperate to say something but he held his tongue. Smart.

Mace pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Padawan Skywalker, looked down for a moment, flushing, then forced himself to meet Mace’s eyes. “I can help you, Master. Please don’t send me back— it’s just, I’ve been at the Temple all this time and you’ve been teaching me all these things and I want to _prove_ myself—”

Mace sighed disappointedly and Skywalker quieted. He spoke testily, “Padawan, you should know by now a Jedi is not motivated by things such as reputation.”

“Of course not—” At Mace’s stern look, Skywalker immediately fell silent.

He considered Padawan Skywalker with a long look. What Mace _should_ do was turn his shuttle around and deposit his stubborn Padawan into the calming yet unyielding tutelage of Master Unduli. But . . . Mace believed there was no replacement for experience. That was what truly differentiated the cocky, older Padawans from full Jedi Knights. 

Experience could tear a Padawan down and remake them into someone new. It was always pretty, wasn’t nice. But the Jedi were the guardians of the Republic and peace— it didn’t come easily or instinctually. It had to be learned through experience. Experience had taught Mace to channel his own anger into productivity.

And he didn’t particularly feel like wasting the fuel to cut to a closer port and then have to subsequently refuel on Coruscant. 

Against his better judgment, Mace reproachfully said, “you may accompany me on this mission.” 

Skywalker’s expression immediately brightened. He was going to regret this, wasn’t he. 

“But should you step out of line even once, do not think I won't hesitate to report your behavior to the Council.”

His Padawan nodded earnestly. “Yes, of course— thank you, Master Windu! I won’t let you down!”

Mace didn’t deign to answer the promise. His Padawan would have no problem proving himself if he had simply _listened_ to Mace in the first place and obeyed the Code. He was still too unruly.

The Code dictated the Jedi, even before the Republic. It was paramount and the basis of one’s honor and strength as a Jedi. Mace’s mind drifted to Knight Kenobi and he resisted the urge to frown. And if Master Yoda wished to play with the future and a tempermental Jedi, the Code too dictated that Mace hold his tongue. 

He sighed and tried to release his frustrations. Compared to everything else, his Padawan’s indiscretion was hardly the largest cause of his mood— it wouldn’t do for his irritation to eek over their bond and disrupt Skywalker’s pleasant show of compliance.

There was a sort of stifling pressure in the Force, a storm about to break. Mace could sense it.

Skywalker broke the silence.

“Um, Master Windu, where exactly are we going?” He asked, a bit awkwardly.

Mace sighed wearily. Speaking of experience. “Unfortunately, Padawan Skywalker, I’m not sure how much of what we see will be new to you. We’re going to Nar Shaddaa to investigate an animal smuggling ring.” He watched his Padawan’s face darken as he recalled their star systems lessons.

“The Hutts,” Skywalker spit.

For once, Mace didn’t feel too pressed to chide his Padawan for his reaction. Mace turned toward the viewport window with a feeling of trepidation stewing in his chest. 

“Indeed. But remember, no matter what you see, we must not act until we locate the ring.” Force knew Mace was going to need to control himself.

There was only a slight pause this time. “Yes, Master.”

* * *

Something twisted in Anakin’s gut as the fiery moon of Nar Shaddaa emerged from hyperspace. Even from orbit, he could see the gleaming spires of infrastructure that spouted pollution into the dusty atmosphere. Despite the zooming hover cars and urban landscape, there was a distinct sort of crookedness that sent him back to the alleyways of Mos Espa. 

They landed at a space port that would’ve made Watto weep with joy. Although, maybe not. Scammers never liked sharing.

“Stay silent and stay beside me,” Master Windu instructed him, throwing up his Jedi cloak so his features were obscured.

Anakin followed suit. “Yes, Master.”

Windu concealed his lightsaber and opened up the shuttle’s hatch. As soon as they stepped off the gangplank, a self-assured looking Trandoshan swaggered up to them, meaningfully touching the blaster slung over his shoulder before greeting them. 

“You folks know there’s a docking fee to stay here?” he asked, his voice raspy with a Dosh accent. He bared his teeth in a crude imitation of a grin, his tongue darting out to taste the air.

Master Windu looked at him, unimpressed. “We will be permitted to dock here.” he said calmly. His voice seemed to vibrate over the Trandoshan.

His scales quivered. “I . . . you will be permitted to dock here.” He blinked and then bore an arrogant grin. “You’d best lock up your ship or I may come back to collect.” He cackled and moved on to torment some other off-worlder.

Anakin stared at the retreating Trandoshan then back at Master Windu in awe. “How did you do that?” he whispered. “You didn’t even do the hand thing!” He distantly remembered Master Qui-Gon doing something similar.

Even hidden in the folds of his hood, Anakin sensed Windu was raising an eyebrow at him.

“Force suggestions are a skill you will learn as a Padawan. However, the gestures are not necessary. Some argue that it’s a useful distraction technique to more easily influence others, but I believe flashy moves are simply childish,” Master Windu said frankly. 

There was no question in his voice about how Anakin would be learning the technique. Anakin squashed down disappointment— it wasn’t _his_ fault he wanted to look cool while doing Jedi things.

Having made their way out of the port, they made their way to collect information on the smuggling ring. To maintain the appearance of trade standards with the Republic, the Hutts made sure their enforceably-illegal activities were strictly underground. But in a place as unsavory as Nar Shaddaa, they didn’t exactly need blaring holoscreen advertising drugs and slaves to find them.

No, to begin their search, Master Windu and Anakin merely slipped into the nearest bar.

Anakin did his best to bite down the revulsion that threatened to break out across his face at the sight of the smugglers and lowlifes that filled the noisy room. He didn’t always agree with the poodoo that the Jedi served in their cafeteria, but a year of freedom had almost made him forget what _this_ was like. Smoky air, dim lights, and the chatter of sharp voices made for a claustrophobic ambiance. 

Anakin caught the eye of a scantily-clad waitress— she was too clean for a place like this. He knew that look. That feeling of being utterly defeated and thinking you deserved it. _Slaves,_ his mind whispered in horror.

But he couldn’t lose the facade and tear up this place with his lightsaber no matter how much he wished to because Master Windu _was counting on him_. He was free and they were going to save people. Just not these people, he thought bitterly.

 _The act of sacrificing a few to save many,_ Anakin repeated the Jedi teaching to himself, trying to calm his rising anger. He unclenched his fists and followed his Master further into the bar.

Windu stepped up to the bar, ordering a drink. Anakin sidled up beside him, ready to do whatever his Master asked, when a suspiciously cheery orange drink was placed before him.

“One brandy for the sir, and a moof juice for the lad,” the bartender gave a smile that was decidedly slimey.

Anakin reluctantly took the drink and scowled at his Master. “Really?” Moof juice had been a treat at first, until he’d drunk a whole carton and had had stomach pains for a whole night.

If it wasn’t Master Windu, Anakin would have sworn the man looked smug. “You’re underage and now we’re paying customers.” He nodded his head, taking the drink with him. “Come on.”

They made their way through the crowd, all sorts of odors Anakin would rather not smell wafting up to him.

Windu turned to him. “I’m going to ask around. Having a ward will look suspicious. Can I trust you to be inconspicuous for a while? Remember to contact me with your com if anything comes up.”

Anakin swallowed down helpless frustration— he wanted to _do_ something. But he conceded Windu’s point. “Yes, Master.” They split and Anakin headed for a back corner. May as well make himself _inconspicuous_ Perhaps fortunately, Anakin knew his way around places like this. If you kept your head down and looked dejected, people rarely bothered you.

He took a sip of the moof juice. He pulled a face at the sad citrus tang— yeah, he was pretty sure it was watered down.

After a short while of just standing to the side, sipping his juice, Anakin felt a hand tap his shoulder. He jolted and turned to face a female Weequay, who held a drink in her hand.

“Hey, didn’t mean to startle you, young one,” she smiled. “Just noticed you were lookin’ lonely over here.”

“What?” Anakin frowned, forcing his hand to not instinctively reach for his lightsaber. There was something familiar about her.

“How about we get outta here?” she batted her scaled eyes at his, grinning. She tilted her head and— Anakin squinted at the slightly faded but prominent black markings behind her ear. _Slave markings_.

He was about to respond when a leathery hand wrapped around his mouth from behind him. Anakin thrashed as one of his arms was pinned behind him. Through the chatter of the room, he could faintly hear his glass shatter on the ground.

Oh suns and gods, Anakin cursed himself. He’d been so surprised at being talked to he hadn’t noticed one of the most obvious tricks of a slave trader. He tried biting down on the hand but the tough skin chafed his face instead. 

“Damn kid,” a gruff male voice behind him hissed.

Any muffled shouts he made were covered up in the din of the bar— _was this how his Padawan training ended?_ Any nearby patrons turned away smoothly. Best trick to make it by in a place like this was to keep your head down and see nothing. Somehow it hadn’t worked for Anakin.

He couldn’t blow their cover and use his lightsaber— Master Windu was going to _kill_ him— Anakin’s other arm was pinned behind him— _well there went that option_ — oh God— 

“Is there a problem here?”

Never had Anakin ever been so relieved to hear the highly displeased voice of Master Windu.

The hands that held him abruptly dropped. “N-no,” the male Weequay sneered. He pushed Anakin forward and away from him, glaring and gestured for the woman to follow him.

Anakin watched them leave, frozen. 

“ — Padawan.” He became aware of Windu’s voice.

“Are you okay?” Windu looked concerned.

Anakin blinked. “I— yes?” His voice shook. Why was his voice shaking? He tried to muster up his normal attitude. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He’d just been a little roughed up by a slave trader on a moon that was owned by the Hutts. All things considered, he’d experienced far worse things.

Windu sighed, “I shouldn’t have left you alone in this place. I’m sorry.”

Embarrassment flooded Anakin and he bit back a frown. _No_ — he had to show Master Windu he was ready to handle this sort of thing. “Master— _I’m_ sorry. Did you— did you figure anything out?”

“I’ve figured out a potential location.” Windu said gently, in a way that was starting to freak Anakin out. He added, “I should have known you would be terrible at being inconspicuous.” Anakin blinked. Was that a joke?

Now he really knew there had been something else in that moof juice.

As soon as they stepped outside, a group of Weequays surrounded them. Anakin recognized the man from earlier. His companion was notably absent from the entourage. His gut twisted and he reached downward for his belt—

 _Wait._ He could feel Master Windu’s command through their bond.

Anakin internally groaned but forced himself to relax. Well, he hoped his Master had a plan.

“There’s no problem here,” Master Windu spoke authoritatively, the strange quality to his tone again from the docks.

But the Weequays merely smirked. A familiar voice called out. “Yeah, yeah, we _do_ have a fucking problem here.” 

The Weequay from before stepped forward, scowling. In the outside lighting, Anakin’s eyes were drawn to his belt where various restraining tools hung. He resisted the urge to shiver.

“I recommend you let us go,” Windu said, patience ebbing.

“I’m sure if you let us examine _this_ beauty a bit we could negotiate—” the Weequay’s swagger faltered and he began blinking rapidly, eyes wildly looking from Windu to Anakin.

Anakin watched in morbid fascination as the man, nearly taller than Master Windu, was brought to his knees, scrabbling at his throat. After what seemed like a small infinity, the pressure on his throat seemed to ease. He looked up, hatred in his eyes.

“I recommend you let us go,” Master Windu repeated, intoning with the Force.

“We will . . . let you go,” the Weequay rasped, waving for his thugs to stand down. They helped him up and they retreated quickly.

“It’s unbecoming to be so smug at that,” Windu dryly spoke.

Anakin refused to feel bad for the vindictive satisfaction at seeing the Weequays retreat. “What happened to ‘I believe flashy moves are simply childish’? I feel like choking is pretty flashy, Master.” He shot back cheekily. “Also, when do I get to learn that?”

“Watch your mouth, Padawan.” Windu scolded, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I needed a distraction to infiltrate his mind.” He added.

“Of course, Master.”

“And I need not tell you that strangulation is _not_ the Jedi way?”

“ _Yes_ , Master.”

* * *

Master Windu’s lead took them into the undercity.

Anakin had thought the putrid smell that was uniquely Hutt-like would be restricted to the major port, but no it seemed the whole planet was infested. They walked through the spiraling structures, building stacked upon each other descending into the depths of the moon.

It seemed as though any semblance of main streets had been abandoned in the underground, every path they stepped onto having the cramped feeling of an alleyway. The roads winded, twisting into each other, random dead-ends indicative of a poorly planned city.

Finally, Master Windu halted outside a building that appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. “I sense a large group of lifeforms in here.” He looked down at Anakin, “try to reach out and sense for yourself.”

Anakin closed his eyes. He pushed his senses outward, beyond the grimy brick beneath his feet or the dank smells wafting through the air. Inside the warehouse there was . . . 

“There’s a lot of . . . excitement. Anger.” And below those surface emotions, there were more grounded emotions, different lifeforms from the first. “And fear. Lots of fear.”

Windu nodded approvingly. “Good. We’ll try to go in quietly. First we want to confirm the existence of the ring, locate the leaders if we can. After that, law enforcement should be able to take over.”

“Yes, Master.”

They both readied their lightsabers and Windu tried the door. It slid open smoothly and they entered.

It turned out they hadn’t needed to have been worried about sneaking in. The warehouse must have been sound-proofed from the inside because the inside was packed— with buyers and sellers. Birds of every color were shackled in cages, larger species in massive cages. All the way to the back of the warehouse were stacks of creatures— _living, breathing creatures_ — and there were even some crates with rough sacks over them that surely held other animals as well. 

A Nikto stood at the center of the room, a light on him. He chattered enthusiastically into a mic and Anakin strained to hear until he realized the Nikto was an auctioneer. “Do we have 5,000 credits? 5,000?” 

Nausea hit him like a blaster shot. _Oh._

Master Windu’s expression darkened. “Well, the trafficking ring certainly exists.” He frowned. “Though I could’ve sworn the reports said they were specifically trading . . .well, we’ll work our way to the middle and grab the auctioneer to see what information he—”

Get the auctioneer? Well, Anakin could do that. 

With a shout, he tossed off his cloak and activated his lightsaber. Screams immediately sounded from the auction-goers nearest to them, the crowd bursting to get away from him.

Anakin didn’t care— his eyes were locked onto the Nikto and the fear in his eyes.

_“Jedi—”_

_“ — what are the Jedi doing here?”_

_“We thought this was secure—”_

Anakin ran forward, lightsaber making the air smell like ozone around him. He would destroy this place— he was _strong_ enough— none of these creatures deserved to be trapped like this. He would put these slavers into cages and see how _they_ liked being whipped and beaten and told that they were _nothing_ — _5,000 credits_ — 

“ _Padawan._ ” Master Windu’s disapproving shout broke through Anakin’s trance.

He blinked, awareness filling him. The warehouse had nearly cleared out, the Nikto and a few other of the staff retreating further in. Then the shame kicked in.

“Master, I—” Anakin felt the burn of tears in his eyes. Kark. 

“Well we have no choice now, do we?” Windu said sharply, his lightsaber shining purple into the dark. “Come on then. Let’s hope there’s not a back entrance.”

Anakin swallowed down his regret. “Yes, Master.” There were always back entrances in schemes like this.

Through the dark, there was a clang and the suspicious sound of cloth rustling and hinges squeaking.

“Have they escaped?” Anakin hesitantly whispered.

“I still sense them close,” Windu shook his head and frowned. “But . . .”

_There’s something else._

Anakin became very aware of heavy breathing and the scuffling of paws against the stone warehouse floor. The dim lighting reflected against the creatures’ scales and they revealed toothy maws. 

Anakin stumbled backward from the Sarlacc-on-legs.

“Master, what _are_ those—?”

Windu shifted into a ready stance. “Akk dogs.” Their eyes shone, as if they were sentient. “But they don’t look normal. It’s likely they’ve been experimented with.” Their large, shuddering forms seemed to shake the ground with their breaths.

“Do we . . . kill them?” Anakin asked, unable to stop the shake in his voice. The creatures— at least seven or eight of them— were massive, the crates shaking as they crawled down. Their dark orange hides gleamed in the lighting as they began to circle around them. One bite and Anakin could easily say farewell to pod-racing forever.

“We need to get into the back area to ensure that Nikto doesn’t escape.” Master Windu said, his eyes shifting from each beast warily. They snapped at the air, as if smelling the anticipation in the air. “So, yes.”

The Akk dogs seemed to take that as a sign to pounce and they bounded forward.

Anakin watched in silence as Windu dodged the first one, slashing at its side as it passed. Sparks flew as the lightsaber made contact but the dog seemed more irritated than wounded. The scales barely appeared singed.

“Master, I don’t think our lightsabers will work—”

“ _Focus_ , Skywalker!” Windu shouted. His arm thrust out and Anakin became aware of a thud before him as an Akk dog was shoved backward.

_Right— focus._

Anakin crouched into an Ataru stance. He’d said he was ready— now he had to prove it. His muscles twitched with adrenaline, reflexes turning him at the barest touch of guidance from the Force.

Anakin and Master Windu stayed near each other, lightsabers arcing around them defensively. The growls turned to yelps as they found the weaker links in their scales in their undernecks. The two Jedi fell into a rhythm, drawing the dogs out of their circling mass.

Anakin kept light on his feet, spinning and slashing with his lightsaber. Akk saliva flew as he had a few close calls with the gnashing mouths. Occasionally he would feel Windu’s mind push against him, with warnings— _behind you, keep your arms up_. Anakin resisted the urge to roll his eyes— only Master Windu would critique his form when they were fighting for their lives. But Anakin kept his eyes open.

The Force seemed to vibrate around them, guiding Anakin’s swings and dodges. He felt like he could anticipate the dogs’ movements. The two of them were _powerful_ , he realized with a sick glee. Another pair of glowing eyes dimmed beneath his lightsaber blade.

Finally, the last Akk dog fell to the ground, leaving the air smelling like charred flesh and animal feces. 

Anakin looked to the other cages.

“Come, we’ll release them later,” Windu said softly, knowing what had drawn his attention.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin said. They were both breathing hard but they sprinted to the back. It didn’t take long to find the door, which had been poorly secured.

Windu stabbed his lightsaber through and cut through the cheap metal. The remains of the door clattered to the ground.

They rushed through the hole to find a massive coliseum-like room, large pillars stretching up into the shadowy ceiling. Grimy earth had been packed down into a coarse, arena floor.

Not exactly what Anakin had expected in the back of a warehouse on a Hutt moon.

At the center of the arena was the large, unmistakable form of a Hutt. His skin was tan colored, green eyes shining in the lights. The Nikto stood beside him, trembling slightly as several more gangly Akk dogs circled them defensively. 

But the real thing that drew Anakin’s focus though was the gaping hole at the side of the Hutt’s face, the scabbed flesh still looking raw. Anakin was surprised when he began to talk.

“Now what have you troublesome Jedi brought to my lovely little circus?” The Hutt called to them, his voice amplified by some unseen speaker system. “It’s quite rude to drive out business like that.”

Master Windu stood forward on the balcony, lightsaber still activated. “Your business here is illegal and _will_ be shut down . . .”

“Gargonn the Hutt,” the Hutt introduced himself pridefully, with the slimy sort of narcissism Anakin had only ever experienced through the slug-like creatures. “Well, I’ll have to decline that. This is _my_ business and I’ve spent a pretty penny keeping it running.” He turned and made to leave.

“No— you will be brought before the Senate for your crimes,” Windu said. He gestured to Anakin and they dropped down smoothly. The Akk dogs howled and rushed forward to meet them.

“What a shame— I’d heard some whispers of Jedi on Nar Shaddaa, but to be honest, I’m a little disappointed.” Gargonn gave a wicked smile. His voice was still audible over the growls of the Akk dogs.

Anakin frowned and tuned out the Hutt. The Force moved easily beneath his fingertips and he felt as if he were dancing. The Akk dogs were no match for him and Master Windu. Their scales too shone with the sort of unhealthy, dark tones and their roughened breathing filled Anakin’s ears. _So this is what it was like to be a Jedi— fighting bad guys—_

“It’s just a stuffy old man and a slave,” Gargonn shrugged.

Anakin’s head snapped around to lock eyes with the smug expression of the Hutt.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, boy. You think I can’t tell? It’s in your _bones_ , kid— I’ve seen enough of them to know.” Anakin’s limbs felt locked, as if he was frozen in a vise grip and Gargonn was breathing his putrid breath into his face.

“You’re a _slave_. I bet born one, and you’ll die one, too—”

Blood rushed to Anakin’s head.

Gargonn smiled at him and something in him snapped.

_“Aaaah!”_

Red exploded behind his eyelids and he was blind to everything but that wide, gaping maw _smiling_ at him— taunting him— forming the syllables of that terrible word— 

_A slave. A slave. Aslaveaslaveaslaveaslave—_

He could hear a raw, inhuman scream that couldn’t even come from the dogs and realized it was _coming from himself._

“Slave mother, slave father— they breed like rats, don’t they?” Gargonn mused to himself. In that moment, Anakin Skywalker knew he was going to kill Gargonn the Hutt.

He abandoned his place beside Windu and broke for the Hutt, pumping his legs as quickly as he could. His growth spurt hadn’t entirely come in yet but he had always been fast. Anakin’s body was electric, feet barely touching the ground.

 _“I’m going to kill you,”_ he promised lowly, rage bubbling up from his chest.

Distantly he could hear Master Windu. “ _Skywalker—_ ” 

“That’s right, listen to your _master_ , little _Skywalker_ — may your chains forever touch the grounds!” Gargonn cackled. His voice filled Anakin’s voice. He brushed off the feeling of Master Windu’s presence trying to sooth him through their bond. 

_Control yourself,_ his Master pleaded.

 _I am_ free, he spit back, insistent.

Nothing would soothe him except the feeling of his lightsaber in that smug slug’s _face_.

The Force felt dark and heavy, resisting his command. He wanted to reach out and use it— crush Gargonn’s windpipe until it was just as mangled as his face. There was a cold presence in his mind, icy and dark and whispering of the power to _get his vengeance._ _Take me_ , this darkness seemed to egg on, _take me and twist me into your tool_. He reached for Force as he sprinted toward Gargonn. This would be his revenge.

Anakin was nearly there when he heard Windu cry out— not in irritation or command, but pain. 

_“Anakin.”_

Anakin froze at the sound of his name. _The name his mother gave him._

It would have been so easy— he probably could have tossed his lightsaber and hit something vital. Just staring at Gargonn’s sick grin made him want to just _do it_.

 _Anakin_ , Shmi Skywalker whispered in his mind. 

The woman who had loved him before he had traveled lightyears away. Before his shackles had fallen away.

_Ani, you know what's right._

He knew he wasn’t a slave. Not anymore.

Anakin Skywalker swallowed down his rage and turned his back on Gargonn.

The sight that beheld him was somehow worse.

 _How had things progressed so much—_ he had only left for a few minutes—

But the remaining Akk dogs had sensed Windu’s distraction and had lunged. As Anakin lowered the barriers he’d unconsciously pulled up, he could feel the agony roiling through his Master. His arm dangled at his side, bloodied and useless. 

At the same time, Windu wielded his lightsaber in his left hand with deadly force. His body was a dance, a movement that took Anakin back to that day in the training halls watching his Master and his lightsaber become one. 

Another Akk dog collapsed but there were too many. Windu’s expression was stoic and focused, no longer sparing Anakin a glance, but he could feel the pain and sadness that permeated their bond.

Anakin ran back, breath gasping in his own ears.

_I’m sorry, Master._

They fought the Akk dogs off, Gargonn’s laughter ringing in his ears. Anakin took a deep breath and channeled his anger through the Force, funneling it into his Ataru. The Force seemed to weep around him, but it had lost the stifling quality from before. It felt lighter.

“Well then, this has been good fun, but I’ll be leaving now,” Gargonn said cheerily.

Anakin’s head whipped up. The Hutt had somehow made it to a speeder at the edge of the arena. 

As Anakin contemplated asking his Master if they should chase Gargonn, Windu collapsed beside him. Something dropped in Anakin’s stomach.

“Master— I— I can get help, I’m so sorry. The Hutt is getting away—” Anakin stammered, trying to prop up Windu’s heavy form. The extent of the damage to his arm became clear. Anakin swallowed down nausea at the sight of bone peaking out.

“Use my comlink— call reinforcements,” Windu hissed through gritted teeth.

“But— they’re escaping,” Anakin protested, watching as the speeder lifted from the ground.

“There’s no helping it,” Windu groaned.

Anakin worried at his lip but finally nodded. Now was no time for him to be disobeying Master Windu. Again.

He tried to ignore the distinctive sound of a speeder accelerating and activated the comlink, the face of a dark-skinned Jedi Knight he didn’t recognize appearing.

Anakin spoke in a rush, his voice cracking slightly, “please— my Master is Master Windu. We need your help. We’re on Nar Shaddaa in sector—”

“Whoa, whoa, take a few breaths there” the Jedi raised an eyebrow. “Repeat that again, slower, kid?”

Anakin took a calming breath, feeling himself start to shake as his body realized it was _over_. Adrenaline and tears flooded out of him.

He repeated their coordinates and the man nodded seriously. “We’ll be there soon. Hang tight, kid.” The comlink shut off.

He bit into his palm, trying to muffle the sound of his sob. _Gods, what had he_ done?

Anakin fell down beside Windu and lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... so that happened.


	11. INTERLUDE II: QUI-GON'S POST-DEATH ADVENTURE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Qui-Gon's essence awakens in the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all sm for the kind comments and kudos!! I'm so glad y'all are enjoying this fic as much I as I had thinking of it!   
> I love hearing y'all's ideas/ what you look forward to (some of which ultimately don't make it in the fic, but are giving me ideas for the spin-off fics in this AU).

Qui-Gon Jinn’s first reaction when he became aware of himself again was to leap up, reaching for his lightsaber to face the horned man.

But as his awareness spread, he found that there was no body of his to move, nor his lightsaber, or . . .  _ anything. _ He was afloat in the universe, unknown stars surrounding him. But he couldn’t feel their warmth, nor the cold of space. There was only . . . nothingness.

Qui-Gon’s consciousness was not limited to a singularity as it had been as a Jedi. Instead, he found that if he focused his intentions, in an instance he could project his mind’s eye. One moment to the sandy dunes of Tatooine, in another to the supermassive black hole at the center of the galaxy.

All the while, a pulsing sensation surrounded him, full of whispers and gentle welcomes.  _ The Force manifested _ , he realized.

For an indiscernible amount of time, Qui-Gon lost himself in this way— traveling from planet to planet as part of the Living Force. He was immersed in the universe, emotions and thoughts quickly fleeting in the context of the minds of trillions of species. 

Occasionally, he would sense patches of muted darkness— invisible to him except for the fact that he knew they existed because of the inexplicable  _ nothingness _ .

_ What is this? _ He asked the Force, distress flooding his incorporeal form. It worried him how Coruscant was so obscured by the blankness that he could not even see it. Where was the Jedi Temple? Where was the light?

_ Darkness _ , the Force answered, sadness permeating the great unknown.

This disturbed Qui-Gon to the extent that he closed himself off from the galaxy to contemplate this. How had such darkness grown in the seat of the Jedi? 

But try as he may, he could not isolate the reason for this happening. It seemed to stretch back a millennium, farther back than Qui-Gon dared go for fear of losing the occasionally waning sense of self he still held.

It was in this way that Qui-Gon did not feel the presence of his Padawan for many months. One day, weary from his travels through time and space to try to answer his questions, Qui-Gon eased himself back into the Living Force, his nonexistent body relaxing into the embrace of the universe.

But with that connection, he felt the searing agony coming through a link he had not touched for many rotations. The shriveled roots of their bond had somehow persisted through death, perhaps through the method that Qui-Gon had maintained himself.

He unconsciously reached for it, desiring to ease the pain of his Padawan.

_ Obi-Wan. _

Qui-Gon’s spirit sang with joy at being reunited to his Padawan. But his Padawan felt more foreign than familiar. He was . . . different.

Obi-Wan had always been insecure— a mask of self-assuredness covering the doubts he held close to him. The quiet fears of one rejected over and over. Qui-Gon understood this now more than ever, his Force presence enveloping his Padawan’s mind. Guilt tugged briefly at his mind before being released into the Force. How long had he left his Padawan alone?

In the time Qui-Gon had been gone, the small seeds of uncertainty within his Padawan had grown deep roots, gnarled and twisted. Obi-Wan was still light— he clung to the light like a man drowning— but he was so terribly confused and sad.

And . . . his Padawan had formed  _ bonds. _ These silvery attachments were as visible to Qui-Gon as the many stars that dotted the sky. One was quite close to his Padawan, another stretched to the other side of the galaxy.

Obi-Wan’s emotions vibrated through the Force, for a moment, overwhelming Qui-Gon.

_ What can I do? How can I ease his pain? _ He called to the Force.

_ Speak to him, _ the Force urged him. _ Speak to him or he will surely Fall. _

Qui-Gon reached back down to his Padawan, reestablishing their connection. His essence flickered sadly in Qui-Gon’s hands.

“Why? Why have you forsaken me, Master?”

Obi-Wan’s voice— pained and raw— called out to him.

_ Obi-Wan, what has distressed you so? _ Qui-Gon reached out, letting the Force hum with his words.

He felt wonder and surprise shake through their bond.

“Master?” Obi-Wan’s voice trembled. “I thought . . . I thought you were gone.” Softer, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you, Master.”

_ You have nothing to apologize for, Obi-Wan. There is no death, there is the Force. _

Qui-Gon felt the cry shake through his Padawan. He paused. Once, the Code had offered great comfort to his Padawan. But there was no relief, only a dark, twisted mass of guilt that churned in his mind.

“I have broken the Jedi Code.”

Qui-Gon waited for his Padawan to explain himself. Of what he remembered of Obi-Wan, the young man would not break the Code. Considering the many times Qui-Gon had broken it, he could not imagine how horrible the offense his Padawan had committed was. His presence still rang light in the Force.

“Do you remember the Duchess?”

Qui-Gon followed the thread of the Force bond from Obi-Wan to the one residing on the same planet as him.  _ Ah. _ The Duchess’ mind was a beautiful structure, crystalline and smooth, the edges where pieces had been grafted together smoothly sanded down so smoothly no one could notice. Yes, Qui-Gon could remember the Duchess and Obi-Wan’s attachment. 

An attachment that had been rekindled, if the bond in his hands was any sign.

_ Indeed _ , he spoke to Obi-Wan.  _ What of it? _

“I- I have broken the Code. I care for her as a Jedi shouldn’t.” Obi-Wan sounded incredulous, surprise vibrating through their link.

Qui-Gon would have laughed if he had a body. Since death, he had melded with the mind of an Aiwha to dive beneath icy waters and fly above them, he had slid under the scales of a Zillo Beast and burrowed underground, he had taken the form of a larva lava flea and bathed in the flames of Mustafar. The Force was no stranger to attachment.

Yes, he’d nearly forgotten that rule of the Code, having never truly obeyed it in life. It was in the Living Force that the Jedi path lay.

But Qui-Gon forced his particles to settle, feeling the way this problem was eating up his Padawan.

_ Obi-Wan. You cannot run from your emotions. _

“But that is not the way of the Jedi—”

Qui-Gon thought to the terrible nothingness immersing Coruscant.

_ The Jedi are not all-knowing, Padawan. _ He could feel Obi-Wan’s resistance to the idea.  _ There is something I cannot read in your mind, young one. Why have you been sent to Mandalore? _

“The Jedi Council sent me here . . . to  _ create _ an attachment with the Duchess, I believe.” Revulsion shook through Obi-Wan.

_ This displeases you? If the Jedi and you wish for the same thing, there is no problem, no? _

“I do not know why they are doing this— it’s some sort of . . . test— I don’t know. But the Code is absolute. I cannot let myself fall—” 

_ Fall to what? To being human? _

“I cannot  _ be _ a human, Master. I must be a Jedi.”

His Padawan’s resolution rang through the Force. He truly believed this. The Force wept at this misconstruction.

At the same time, Obi-Wan offered up his pain and the memory of vibrations through the Force. Qui-Gon felt the feeling of fire beneath his skin, growing until it tore its way out, a mass of mechanics and raw flesh. Their deaths were a hollow void in the Force, touched by the darkness Qui-Gon could not see. He pulled away from the images his Padawan had felt, disturbed.

“How do I help them, Master? How can I save  _ any _ of them if I feel so lost?” Obi-Wan asked brokenly.

_ Do you heed the will of the Force, Padawan? _

“Of course. A Jedi is a servant of the Force.”

_ Then, as an agent of the Force, I beg for you to listen to me. You cannot keep denying your feelings, Obi-Wan. _

_ You must find a way to acknowledge them, or you  _ will  _ Fall. _

Obi-Wan’s mind cried out in protest.

“I would never Fall, Master!”

Desperate, pleading.

_ Did you think that I never cared for you, Obi-Wan? That every Jedi has never cared? _

“I . . . I do not know. At one point—”

Guilt stemmed from Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon felt a strange feeling come over him.  _ Grief? _ Obi-Wan had been like a son to him. An antagonistic, angry son. He had cared for him, had cared for all of his Padawans.

And Qui-Gon would not let another one Fall.

_ To care is not the dark side, Obi-Wan. Search your feelings, you know it to be true. _

“But, then . . . does the Force accept these . . . attachments?”

He could feel Obi-Wan’s mind cling to his further and he forced his particles to resist the urge to break free.

_ Anything, when obsessive, can become a path to the dark, Obi-Wan. The Jedi find the balance. The Jedi seek to help. There is more than one way to follow the light. _

His Padawan eased the Force of their link.

“I . . . I think I understand.”

Qui-Gon was surprised at the strength of the grief pouring through their bond. Grief . . . but also acceptance. He smiled— Obi-Wan had grown. He had seen terrible things and yet had not Fallen. Not truly.

“I know what I must do, Master. Thank you.”

_ I will be watching over you, Obi-Wan. Never forget that. _

Qui-Gon brushed over his Padawan’s mind once more before stepping back into the universe. Obi-Wan let him go willingly, releasing him.

The part of him that could remember, part of it missed his Padawan. Their banter, the way Obi-Wan would abashedly argue with him. But the angry teenager who Qui-Gon had raised through all his tumultuous relationship with the Jedi Order and himself had grown up.

Yes, when Qui-Gon reached forward in time he sensed that Obi-Wan would be happy.

He let himself fade back into the Living Force, content.

After a while, Qui-Gon felt another, familiar awareness touch up against his. One from before his death, before Obi-Wan, before Xanatos. From a time when he was under the tutelage of his own Master. One that should not be one with the Living Force.

Qui-Gon’s particles mixed against the other mind, confused.

_ Sifo-Dyas? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :D


	12. X: HEART IT RACES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin wakes up, and many conversations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgoed updating last week in solidarity w BLM. stay safe y'all.
> 
> chapter title is taken from Architecture in Helsinki's "Heart It Races", which was listened to frequently while writing this chapter.

Anakin woke up surrounded by soft white sheets in an unfamiliar place. The place smelled clean and the Force hummed gently around him. He closed his eyes and the mission to Nar Shaddaa flashed behind his eyelids— _the bar, the slaver, the Akk dogs, Gargonn, Master_ — 

He jolted and became aware of a person sitting beside him.

“Hey, are you awake? You alright, kid?” 

Anakin tried to move but his body screamed in protest. Where were his clothes? Instead, a strange, pale gown covered him, flowier than even the loose clothes worn on Tatooine. He felt exposed.

“Hey, careful there. You strained yourself a lot,” the man— the Jedi from the comlink— said gently. He reached out to help Anakin but he automatically flinched back. He forced himself to relax— he was with a Jedi. That meant they’d been rescued.

Where was Master Windu?

“Ah, sorry. I’m Quinlan Vos. I was the one who found you guys.” A strange light filled Quinlan’s eyes. “You did good, kid.”

 _Respect_ , Anakin realized. He didn’t feel much like someone who deserved respect.

He looked down to avoid the compassion he saw in the other Jedi. He didn’t deserve that either.

Anakin twisted his bandaged hands in his hands miserably. “Is Master Windu okay?” he blurted out.

Quinlan’s energy sobered. “He’ll be . . . . It’s best you speak with him. He’s awake, if you’re ready?”

Anakin’s stomach dropped and he was almost thankful he hadn’t eaten anything in . . . however long. Even the memory of the cold in that horrible arena made him want to gag.

But he had to know what happened to Master Windu.

“I’m ready,” he said.

He began protesting when Quinlan promptly moved to pick him up. “You don’t have to _carry_ me—” 

“Don’t worry, princess, I brought out a chair,” Quinlan said and, though Anakin couldn’t see his expression, he had the distinct feeling the Jedi was laughing at him.

Finally deposited in the wheelchair with minimal additional bruising, they made their way down the hall.

“Where . . . are we?” Anakin asked, trying not to sound like a green Padawan. Everyone would probably already think that after this.

“We’re in the more intensive care wing of the healing halls. I’m not surprised you haven’t seen it before.”

“We’re on Coruscant?” Anakin gaped. How long had he been out? It must’ve been a few days of travel, then. The feeling of dread in his gut only worsened at the thought of Master Windu’s condition.

“Yeah. Alright, I think Mace is in here . . .” Quinlan pushed Anakin inside the room.

Master Windu was sitting up in his bed, his own hospital gown looking foreign on his body. But his skin had lost most of the plaid look of blood-loss that hinted at death. After giving his Master a relieved once-over, Anakin’s eyes immediately went to the machinery surrounding the bed and . . . the medical droid currently working with something by Windu. No, _on_ Master Windu.

Anakin had just enough time to see a panel shut in his Master’s right arm and the droid spit out diagnostic jargon before the medi-droid briskly exited the room.

He was pretty sure Master Windu hadn’t had a mechanical arm before.

_After all, he’d seen it bloody and tattered and hanging at his Master’s side uselessly—_

Master Windu watched him calmly, seeing Anakin’s face fall. Blood pulsed in his ears. _This was all his fault._

Quinlan quietly left them alone.

“How are you, Anakin?” Windu asked, surprisingly gentle. Windu had used his first name. Again.

“I . . . _I’m so sorry_ , Master,” Anakin trembled, eyes fixated where he had seen the panel seal shut seamlessly. If he hadn’t seen it, he would have never known . . . .

“About what? The arm?” Windu's mouth quirked up slightly. “Well, I’ve told you that Jedi must not hold onto attachments.”

Anakin had a feeling that that was supposed to be a joke and felt obliged to offer up a laugh. It was the least he owed. It sounded more like a sob.

In the moment, he had been so _sure_ of himself. Sure that he was meant to go on that mission with Master Windu— that he would prove himself and that his Master would be proud of him. That he would be able to tell Obi-Wan and maybe that would make him _happy_ for once and maybe Anakin would truly, really believe that he deserved to be a Jedi— that he _could_ be a Jedi. But he’d messed it all up.

“I don’t blame you for what happened, Anakin.” Windu said firmly. “The arm, while it will take time to get used to, is not the end-all. I would be a pretty terrible Jedi Master if losing an arm made me ineffective.”

He paused, as if uncertain of how to proceed. Anakin closed his eyes briefly— he wasn’t sure _why_ Windu would be uncertain. Anakin was already coming to terms that he would be expelled from the Jedi for this.

Master Windu had said it himself— _Jedi must not hold onto attachment_. Anakin hadn’t been able to release his anger and it had lost Windu his arm.

“There is much anger and fear within you, Padawan. On Nar Shaddaa, I sensed that you almost Fell to the dark,” Windu finally spoke. “Do you want to tell me about that?”

Tears of shame burned at his eyes. Anakin looked up but, to his surprise, there was no judgment in his Master’s eyes. Though, perhaps it made sense— his Master was the perfect Jedi. _There is no passion, there is serenity._ Just another reason why Anakin would never make it as a Jedi.

He looked down and talked to his hands. “I’m trying to become . . . _better_ , but on Nar Shaddaa I just . . . couldn’t control myself. Sometimes, I feel so _angry_ but that time was different— I could feel all my feelings from when I was,” Anakin got choked up, “— when I was a slave and I _couldn’t stop myself_ .” It sounded so disgusting in his mouth. _A slave._ But that was what he was, wasn’t it? _A pathetic boy who can’t do anything right._

Master Windu’s words registered and Anakin shivered. _The dark side?_ Had he truly Fallen? He thought of the feeling of icy darkness that had pressed down on him when he’d been so intent on Gargonn. A new wave of self loathing threatened to crash down on him.

“But you didn’t Fall.” Windu’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You were able to let go of your revenge and used the Force to guide you.” Again, with that tone of _pride_ — _he didn’t deserve it— this was all his fault._

“But I used my anger,” Anakin said, frustrated. “That’s not what a Jedi is supposed to _do_.”

Master Windu studied him intensely. “I think you’ve taught me many new things about the Code, Padawan. Yes, the Code teaches us that a Jedi must have no emotion. But to truly give up all of our emotions— to lose the things that give us compassion and sympathy . . . . Jedi are first and foremost keepers of the peace and it’s important that we _believe_ in that.”

Sure, Anakin believed in protecting others. But wasn’t that what had caused his problem in the first place? He cared _too_ much about other people. His head felt like it was going to split.

“But I’m so _scared_ of myself and I don’t know what to do. _I need help._ ” Anakin protested, voice breaking.

Windu’s expression softened. He stood. “Come with me. There is someplace I’d like to show you.”

* * *

Mace led Padawan Skywalker through the intensive ward of the Halls of Healing to the entrance of the Hall. Skywalker was strangely silent beside him after his outburst in the room.

Guilt welled up, unbidden. Sith, perhaps Mace had expected too much of his Padawan. He tried shaking the feeling off— Jedi had no use for remorse. There was no sense in wondering what might have happened if Mace had done what he should have and dropped Padawan Skywalker back at the Temple. 

He may as well wonder what might have happened to _him_ had Skywalker not been there. Certainly, he might have not gotten distracted, but he also could have lost far more than an arm. Mace had had a long time in his healing trance to meditate on the memory of the Akk dog’s frothing maw.

No, he had to believe that this was the will of the Force. Instead they could only move forward. Mace’s right arm twitched involuntarily, the nerves still calibrating. Yet Mace’s slight discomfort was nothing to the visible flinch his Padawan made and something tugged in Mace’s chest. He stopped Skywalker and made eye contact.

“Skywalker, do you trust me?” Mace asked gently.

Padawan Skywalker looked up at him, blue eyes undeniably moist. Suddenly, it hit Mace that his Padawan nearly still was a youngling. Even months of hard training wasn’t enough to burn away the baby fat that clung to the boy’s face. But something set in his blue eyes and Skywalker nodded.

“Yes, Master,” his voice was rough.

“Good,” Mace finally said. And, he realized, the simple word really did encompass how he felt. He did his best to push feelings of reassurance through their bond.

It wasn’t as though Mace _hadn’t_ been angry at Skywalker— for a while, his old rage had bubbled up in a fury. The boy had clearly broken the Code, holding onto his years of bitterness and attachment so much so that it nearly dragged him down. Mace had been so thrown off in the coliseum on Nar Shaddaa because he had felt the dark side practically _oozing_ off his Padawan. His own shields had nearly been shredded in that raging storm of grief and anger.

In the aftermath, Mace had been so furious and disappointed and _worried_ that he’d hardly noticed the procedures on his arm. But he had given himself time and released the feelings to the Force. And when his anger burned away, there had only been the slightly hollow feeling of realizing that _he_ had let his Padawan down. 

He had let Skywalker stay because he _did_ trust him. Yet the Force around them was nearly stifling with all the feelings of guilt and uncertainty surrounding his Padawan and that had been no small driving force in him brushing the dark. It’d been a storm brewing for some time, yet Mace had thought . . . what? That it would simply disappear as Skywalker became more adept at meditation? 

Yet Skywalker hadn’t Fallen. Despite everything, he had remained with the light.

Mace had had his number of rough patches training Depa. She too had experienced the nightmares and the strain of having experienced trauma at a young age. And yet Depa had a calm temperament that had permeated through those young years that Skywalker didn’t share. She had managed to wear down the hurt inside her until it was as smooth as a river stone. Skywalker’s pain was still raw, jagged and harsh inside him. The boy was like an exploding star trying to contain itself, his presence in the Force a bonfire to Depa’s steady stream.

Padawan Skywalker was different. Mace still had his doubts about the whole Chosen One declaration Master Qui-Gon had been so sure of, and he doubted lauding the title above the boy’s head would help him grow into anything but disappointment, but he had to admit that he was out of his depth.

It was beyond Mace to help Skywalker through what he was processing. But it was not beyond the healers of the Temple to help him.

Mace waved over Master Vokara Che, who promptly scowled at him. “You know, Master Windu, when I put you in a healing trance, I expect you to _stay_ in it a while to _heal_.”

Mace resisted the urge to wince, aware of the way Padawan Skywalker seemed to shrivel beside him.

“Master Che, I’d like to request a favor from you,” Mace said. He turned back to his Padawan. _You’re sure?_ He asked silently. Skywalker sent an affirmative back, their bond radiating with determination over the layers of guilt. Right, then. Progress.

“Are any of your mind healers available for private sessions?”

Master Che looked over them with a discerning eye. Finally, she gave a brisk nod, “of course.”

Padawan Skywalker looked at him uncertainly but Mace gestured to him to follow Master Che. “Trust the Force,” he encouraged. He watched Skywalker walk away.

* * *

Satine wasn’t sure what to expect when the knock came on her office door and a muffled “can I come in?” rang.

“Come in,” she called. When she looked up from her datapad, she was glad she was sitting.

She said his name as if it would make the mirage disappear. “Obi-Wan?”

He looked as if he’d just rushed over, hair in disarray. At least it seemed as though he’d started using the fresher again.

“I— I’m sorry for bursting in on you like this,” he ran his hand through his hair anxiously. “Can we . . . talk?”

For a blink of the eye, Obi-Wan looked like the nervous teenager that had done his best to act standoffish while maintaining decorum, cradling his self-worth to him desperately. Something in Satine softened at the sight.

“Very well.” She nodded to the guard standing inside her office. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

She pushed the datapad to the side and interlaced her fingers in front of her. “Well, what do you want to discuss?” She asked curtly. 

Honestly, she didn’t have the time to waste upon this. Obi-Wan had made clear that . . . whatever was going on between them wouldn’t interfere with his promise to support her investigations into Death Watch and she thought she was doing pretty good to hide all the hurt and stress that was causing. It wasn’t much different than her other tasks as a Duchess— _hold your head high and never let them see how much it hurts_. 

All in all, Satine didn’t see any reason to change the status quo.

"I’ll be frank.”

_Fantastic._

“I believe I still have feelings for you.”

_What?_

Satine said about as much. Faintly, voice full of disbelief. She forced down the reaction, trying her best for unimpressed.

Obi-Wan looked at her nervously, then down again, a faint flush on his cheeks. “I . . . _like_ you, Satine.”

Silence reigned over the office.

Satine took a second to breathe deep, looking at the small, glass statues that adorned her office, the skylight— anything but the Jedi standing before her and the lurching ache in her chest that felt suspiciously like longing. She shook it off, angry at herself. What was this? Some schoolyard crush game of “like” and “ _like_ like”?

“And what of your behavior is supposed to have convinced me of this?” Satine asked, irritation covering up the surprise filling up the rest of her. “You spend your time in your room and then act like an asshole whenever you decide to _grace_ me with your presence.”

She tried to not take satisfaction in the way Obi-Wan flinched guiltily.

“I know I acted . . . I’ve acted like shit. I’m sorry, Satine. Truly sorry,” he winced. “I know that this doesn’t excuse it, but I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s happened to me. This year and, well, my whole life.” Obi-Wan gave a strangled laugh.

“I’ve spent my whole life by the Jedi Code, which dissuades attachment, among other things. And I still live by it, but seeing what is happening on Mandalore and being with you has made me reevaluate.

“I think the past few months . . . I’ve just felt really lost. And I’m sorry that you had to experience the brunt of that.”

Satine’s resolve crumbled a little. _Oh, Obi-Wan._ She had forgotten that this was technically his first mission as a Jedi Knight. After Master Qui-Gon had passed away. It had taken years for Satine to move on from her father’s death and some days, the grief would come back, just as raw as when it was new. Her mother’s had taken even longer.

Obi-Wan had helped her regain her confidence on one of those days. Did she not owe the same to him? If for anything, fro the friendship she had carried with her so fondly over the years?

Satine pushed herself away from her desk, standing. Without speaking, she gently wrapped Obi-Wan in a hug. He slowly melted into it.

She was overcome by the sudden urge to cry. To cry for the younger selves that had not taken the risks when things were simpler. To cry for time passed. To cry for her father and mother and Qui-Gon and Bo and everyone who was lost. When she closed her eyes, she thought of Korkie and swore that he would not live a life where he felt he lacked affection.

“You know, I would have left the Order for you. All those years ago,” he said softly into her hair. Something warm filled her chest.

“I know. That’s why I never asked.” Satine said just as softly. She hesitated, heart thundering in her chest. “I loved you too much to tear you away from the life you loved.”

Obi-Wan froze in her arms.

“So, you loved me?” His voice caught on _love_ . _Do you still?_ the unspoken question rang in the air.

Satine pulled away from him gently and looked in his eyes. They were moist with a glimmering look of hope. She thought of the infatuation that had taken up all of her thoughts that weren’t consumed with survival all those years ago. The way she thought about Obi-Wan had changed, matured over time. But, ultimately . . .

“Yes,” she breathed. The word felt as if it had lightened a weight she hadn’t been aware of.

“Yes,” she repeated, laughter bubbling up. Yes, she loved this idiot.

The smile Obi-Wan gave her made her chest ache with a warm burst of happiness. Satine wanted— well, she wasn’t sure _what_ she wanted but if Obi-Wan was with her it felt as though there was a sudden _rightness_.

Obi-Wan sobered slightly. “Though, there is something else I must tell—” 

The door was crisply knocked and then opened. Satine and Obi-Wan broke apart hurriedly and Satine tried to calm her racing heart, her whole body still feeling like it was tingling, _floating_.

It was Officer Ude’tuun, looking abashed but concerned. “Apologies for the interruption, Duchess. But our results came back from forensics that you informed us that you wished to know immediately.”

Satine shoved down the flash of irritation. She’d also _said_ she wasn’t to be disturbed.

She put on a face of professionalism. “Yes, of course. You can have the report sent to me.”

Ude’tuun lingered, a look of consternation. “There’s something more. Not only was it another one of the . . . human explosives, but it was the Memorial Shrine that was targeted this time. There were six others that were injured in the blast.”

Satine frowned. It was the largest target to date then, with the most injured as well.

“And there was this, Duchess. We’ve scanned it for any viruses or trackers, but it’s clean.” Ude’tuun placed a small black device on her desk. A recorder. “It only has one message on it.”

The recorder activated, projecting a hologram of a soldier in Death Watch uniform. A clawed symbol on the top of his helmet looked like a twisted sort of crown. Light flickered emotionlessly over the helmet’s visor.

“Greetings, Duchess of Mandalore. I am the leader of the Death Watch. Today marks the second official bombing of the Death Watch. We invite you to watch the crumbling of your government as you stand by and do nothing because _that’s what you do_ .” The male voice sneered. “That is, unless you _want_ to do something.”

“Death Watch calls a truce. Come meet me, alone, at the Memorial Shrine where we will be open to negotiations. You hear our demands and . . . well, listen to them, if you’re smart.”

Satine felt a burn in her palms and realized she’d been clenching her fists until her knuckles went bone-white. If only she could see who was under the mask.

“No guards, no ploys. Because I understand what a large decision this is, you have until 2100 today to decide.” The Death Watch leader gave another mocking laugh. “Come alone, unarmed, 2100, to the Memorial Shrine. Or else, more will die.”

The video froze and ended.

Satine breathed deep, trying to calm herself down. The feeling in her chest felt like a cold dagger. She was shaking with . . . _anger, fear?_

“Duchess, are you well?” Ude’tuun stepped forward.

“No, no. I’m fine.” Satine rubbed at her temples and nodded to herself. She looked at Ude’tuun and Obi-Wan’s equally concerned expressions.

The bombings by Death Watch were planned to make the citizens of Mandalore believe that her government was incompetent. And for the past few months, Satine had to admit that that was true. They had no substantial leads and yet with every incident, that official and unofficial— Satine scoffed at the thought of the group _choosing_ its “official” attacks— more and more innocent people were either put in the hospital or worse.

She bit back a sigh. It was undeniable. The Death Watch were terrorists— likely had never stopped their plans since the moment their exile had been negotiated. The thought was discouraging, to say the least.

Well, nonviolence was not a passive movement.

“I’m going to the negotiations.” She announced. She would make this an opportunity to learn more about Death Watch, their capabilities.

Obi-Wan audibly laughed. “It’s clearly a trap, Satine.” She bristled at the derisive tone.

Ude’tuun smoothed over his expression at the breach in formalities. “I must agree with the Jedi, Duchess. We’ll scout out—”

“Have you found any leads on the explosives, officer?” Satine interrupted.

Ude’tuun hesitated, “well, we know that they’ve been caused by nano-droids, but we’re not sure about how they’ve been spreading—”

“Then there’s no question of it. I will not have my people dying and further faith in this government fall. A government enacts the will of the people and I intend to protect them.” Satine said sharply. It was _her_ choice in this matter and last she fucking checked the Duchy was not a puppet position.

“Could I discuss this matter with the Duchess in private, officer?” Obi-Wan forced out. Satine forced her face not to twitch at the tone in his voice. Like she was a child being scolded! This was the precise interference she’d resented from the Republic.

Ude’tuun gave a strained nod. “Very well. I do hope you’ll reconsider this matter, Duchess.” He stiffly bowed and left.

As soon as the door shut again, Obi-Wan rounded on Satine. “Can you _please_ think this through a bit more?” He pleaded.

Satine glared at him. “I have and I remain determined.” 

She turned away from him, trying to push away the wave of frustration that came over her. After all, she had to be rational about this. Even if everyone thought she was insane for it anyway. 

“Obi-Wan, can’t you see that this is the only way to directly contact Death Watch? And maybe they’ll surprise us by not being backstabbing bastards,” she added dryly.

Obi-Wan remained silent, a frown on his face. She forced a smile.

“Well, we have until night to decide, no? Plenty of time. What else was it that you wanted to tell me?” She tried to summon up the euphoric rush from before, but the mood had died.

He looked to the side, embarrassed. “Well, I wished to tell you that, er, actually the Jedi Council is acceptant of our relationship, so long as I report to them about it.”

Satine stared at him for a moment, to see if he was joking in trying to change the topic. But his face was set. 

Satine wasn’t sure if she was more dumbfounded or insulted that Obi-Wan thought that this had been an appropriate piece of information to divulge. She was also really starting to want to meet whoever the _fuck_ was on this “Jedi Council” that dictated every part of its Jedi’s lives and then some. Regardless of the omnipotent “Force” or whatever guiding principle they had— this was bordering on unethical.

She was starting to wonder if Obi-Wan understood what love meant. This didn’t feel like love. 

“You’re saying that, sometime in advance, you were given _permission_ to court me?” Satine asked slowly, testing if she was overreacting. The air between them crackled with tension.

Obi-Wan seemed oblivious, “yes.” 

A hysterical, upset laugh burst from Satine. He was incorrigible.

“Oh, well, now I understand things _perfectly_ , Obi-Wan. _You_ want to control my decisions with the Mandalorian government, yes, out of concern for me, but mostly because you’ve been raised by a bunch of micromanaging control freaks!” She looked at his broken expression a bit guiltily. But the anger was easier.

“Can’t you see how fucked up that is? Obi-Wan, we _both_ like each other. We are consenting adults. We shouldn’t need the approval of an ‘all-wise’ council to be together.” She urged him to see. There was still a slight thrill to realizing that they were so _close_ to being something _._ “I was willing to step back at first, because I respect what the Jedi means to you. But you are a free person with _rights_ , Obi. You shouldn’t need to disclose every piece of information about your private life to just anyone.”

“The Jedi Order are not just anyone. They are . . . they are my family,” Obi-Wan said, hurt. Still, he kept defending them!

“God— sometimes I wonder if you even— are Jedi even human? Do you even know what love is?”

Obi-Wan stepped back as if he’d been slapped, and his expression went blank. For a moment, he was speechless and the words Satine had said dawned on her. Guilt and regret immediately reared its head as the side of Obi-Wan that had seemed so vulnerable and genuine retreated into him.

“Obi-Wan— I’m sorry—”

Obi-Wan interrupted her, face still terribly blank. “I don’t mean to control you, Satine— blazes, of _course_ you’re free to do what you wish and if you want to go to the negotiations . . . I won’t stop you.”

The words were practically dragged from him, dead and leaden. It didn’t feel like a victory. 

Satine tried not to grimace. But she had no desire to further escalate whatever this had turned into. “Thank you.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head, taking a heavy breath. “But the Order has told me troubling things and if the assistance I can offer can steer the Order into a better direction, I will do so willingly. I understand if you want no part with it.”

The ache was back.

“Obi-Wan, can’t you see you already hold my highest affections?” Satine tried, weakly. A bit selfishly, she wondered why that could not be enough.

“Then why can’t you do this thing for me?” He begged. “The Council has allowed me—”

The Council, the Council— _always_ the Jedi Council first, before everything. Even Obi-Wan himself.

“For the man with the famed title of Negotiator, I thought you would be better at this,” Satine said, the jab lacking any strength.

“Your affections are not comparable to negotiations to me!” Obi-Wan protested agitatedly.

“Then don’t compromise on them,” Satine said. “You treat your enemies with more thought than your feelings. I’ll be preparing for the meetup tonight, now.”

With that, she bundled up the datapad and her mixed feelings of guilt and hurt with her and swept out of the room, leaving Obi-Wan silent behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... *chuckles nervously* what's it with anakin and people losing limbs amiright. i'd love to know what y'all think!


	13. XI: GAR SHUK MEH KYRAYC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin begins therapy, Obi-Wan thinks, and Satine is the one who gets shit done.
> 
> Gar shuk meh kyrayc - [Mando'a] you're no use dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the comments & kudos! They give me life :D
> 
> From this point on, the fic really gets into AU territory, esp as I have 0 knowledge of legends stuff! (sorry) Enjoy as I try really hard to make this a fix-it fic :,)

Outside of the intensive ward, Anakin realized the Halls of Healing were quite beautiful. The simple but purposefully structured arches gave the wide corridors an open feeling, allowing Anakin to feel as if he could feel the Temple breathing through the hall.

Last week, Master Windu had taken him to a part of the Halls of Healing he’d never been to before. It seemed to be a series of rooms, soft fountains bubbling in several smaller courtyards.

There, Anakin met an olive-skinned Twi’lek, who introduced himself as Master Kluub and specialized in “mindful connection to the Force”. At that, Anakin had turned doubtfully to Windu, but his Master had given him an unimpressed look right back.

That was how Anakin found himself promising to have at least one session with Master Kluub and was now wandering the Halls of Healing, a bit lost. Master Windu had some other thing to attend to and Anakin was . . . well, he was  _ pretty _ sure he hadn’t seen that fountain before. Or perhaps he had— had he taken a right before?

“Padawan Skywalker?” a voice called out.

Anakin felt himself flush and turned around. “Master Kluub.” He gave an awkward smile.

Master Kluub merely gave a relaxed smile. “Come this way, Padawan.”

He led Anakin into a room that appeared to be an office of sorts. It was sparsely decorated but for a few plants and decorations. Anakin took the proffered seat and sat uncomfortably, feeling himself fidget as Master Kluub moved around the room.

“Would you like some tea?” the Master asked, kettle in hand.

“Why am I here?” Anakin blurted out, not quite registering Kluub’s question.

Master Kluub paused with the kettle, brow furrowing. “I thought Master Windu informed you of what this would be?”

Anakin winced. “He said . . . I would talk to you?” He just hadn’t really thought about the fact that he would be sitting down and  _ talking _ to someone. About his anger. About everything, he supposed. He forced down a shiver— no matter how awkward  _ this _ was he wanted to get better. He had to.

Kluub nodded. “Precisely. We won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable— this will go at the pace you want to go at to get what you want out of this.” He turned back around to prepare the tea and placed a mug before Anakin.

“Feel free to try it. It’s a lemon and herb mix from my home planet.” Kluub smiled gently. Anakin picked it up to do something with his hands and the drink warmed his chilled hands.

“Before we start, and if you choose to continue with these sessions, I want you to know that these sessions are completely confidential. No one will know about what we discuss but us and I have taken oaths to protect my patients’ privacy,” Kluub said. “The session will last around thirty minutes, though it can end sooner than that, if you want.”

Anakin nodded slowly, looking down at his tea. He could . . . manage this. He took a sip, surprised by the sweetness. It took him back to greeting ceremonies in dim rooms on Tatooine. Something tugged in his chest at the thought.

The Force moved around them, languid and calm.

“I decided to come here because . . .” Anakin trailed off.  _ Because I got my Master’s hand cut off. Because I can’t control myself. Because the Force comes too easily to me and that scares me. Because my dreams are filled with sand and lava and fire. _

“Because I need help,” he finished lamely, looking down. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment. It felt weak to admit that.

“And you’ve already begun that,” Master Kluub said, settling before Anakin in another chair. “Our sessions are in your control. What do you want to talk about today?”

* * *

Obi-Wan paced his room anxiously. Hours had passed since Satine and his heated discussion and he hadn’t left room since storming in, a mess of emotion. He hadn’t had the desire for food with the twisting knots in his stomach.

The feeling of utter wonder that had filled him when Satine had said she  _ loved _ him warred with the jittery anxiety that made him want to just throw his lightsaber around and, well, act like Anakin. Blasters were so clunky and ineffective— he was sure he could make a sizable dent in Death Watch before he went down—

No. He couldn’t think nonsense like that.

Satine’s words echoed in his mind, taunting him. It was as if she had seen his heartstrings and tore them out by the fistful.

He’d quickly left the office after Satine had rushed out, a force of nature in of itself. All the ornaments, the neatly organized papers, meticulously-kept files— everything had screamed Satine in Obi-Wan’s face and that really wasn’t what he needed at the moment. His own emotions were riled up, a nauseating feedback loop with all the confusion and anger emitting off Satine in the Force. 

_ Do you even know what love is? _

It hadn’t been the words insofar as the  _ feeling _ that he had sensed along with it. It hadn’t merely been a jab during an heightened argument. No, there had been  _ genuine _ wondering, as if Obi-Wan was some newly discovered non-sentient blob.

_ That  _ hurt. 

Their Force bond was fraying at the edges, in the sort of messy way that Force bonds unintentionally made often were— especially between a Force-sensitive and someone who was blind to the Force. But it had shone pure— it had been borne of Obi-Wan’s feelings for Satine. His desire to protect her and . . . he had thought, his feelings that had never left him.

But through all the things he had done— experimentally, as was allowed by the Code, he’d never had the opportunity to  _ declare _ love. During his first stay in Mandalore, his waking thoughts had been consumed by Satine. He’d have left the Order for her.

But was that love?

It wasn’t as though Obi-Wan had ever thought to show those most private thoughts to the Masters and ask them  _ is this love? _

Sighing, he pulled out the smooth beige riverstone Master Qui-Gon had given him. Even though it had not helped him commune with his Master, the warm presence of the stone comforted him. It reminded him of fonder times, when he’d been aglow with the very thought that someone, anyone, had chosen him.

_ You cannot keep denying your feelings, Obi-Wan _ , Master Qui-Gon’s spirit had warned him.

But how could he  _ accept _ his feelings when he felt so many things, so many of them conflicting? How could he accept them if he was not sure if they were even legitimate?

He brushed his thumb over the stone, frowning.

People were  _ dying _ , he reminded himself, gut churning slightly at the memory he had felt at the first human explosive site. As the projection had played, he’d reached out with the Force and had  _ felt _ the horrible burning sensation under his own skin.

It was a sickening way to die.

But another part of him, a selfish small part of him, snarled that Mandalore’s citizens hadn’t appreciated Satine— what right did they have to her life?

_ You want to control my decisions with the Mandalorian government because you’ve been raised by a bunch of micromanaging control freaks. _

Well, he supposed he hadn’t truly appreciated her either.

A bit bitterly, he wondered if he even loved her. Was it just another misconception of his about real people?

Obi-Wan had immediately moved to defend the Jedi Council. He had dedicated his whole life to the Jedi Order! It couldn’t be wrong.

But part of Obi-Wan silently wondered if he was only too scared to admit the imminent truth lurking underneath to himself.

He contemplated contacting the Jedi Council for advice. He was aware of the irony.

Rubbing a weary hand over his face, Obi-Wan pocked the stone and left his room. The fading rays of sunlight sent faint beams through the windowed hallway.

The last few months of hiding himself away from Satine hadn’t precisely worked. He had tried to stave off the feelings he held for her— unwilling to let the Jedi Order dictate their relationship but also refusing to define it on his own terms. But all he had to show for his abstinence was a scraggly beard (which he’d grown somewhat attached to) and a confusing jumble of feelings and heart-wrenching  _ hope _ .

The hope almost made it worse than before.

He hadn’t wanted to force Satine into a relationship because of some preconceived notion that it would be for the Council and not them, but in confessing to her he’d somehow fallen into making her think that that was exactly what his feelings were.

Damn Force ghosts of one’s mentor that convinced one that confessing one’s feelings was a rational and well thought out idea.

The angry, twisted voice that whispered whenever he’d defied Master Qui-Gon reared its vengeful head. Well, either way, didn’t the Council win? it sneered. Either Obi-Wan remained the proper Jedi and absconded attachment or he succumbed and Satine and his relationship allowed the Council to avert whatever vision Master Yoda had been seeing.

And the one person Obi-Wan hadn’t wanted to hurt was now heading off to a shady meeting with a terrorist group that specifically wanted to destroy her government.

Yes, he supposed this whole was pretty fucked up, as Satine put it.

Obi-Wan gave himself a strangled laugh, not paying mind to the look the guards gave him as he headed towards them.

“May I see the Duchess?” He put on his most mentally-stable smile. The guard seemed unconvinced. But burying his thoughts before hadn’t worked well, so perhaps talking things out with Satine would make things clearer.

At the very least, he needed to rid himself of the nagging feeling in his chest. Because in their conversation earlier— 

Obi-Wan became aware that the guard had responded to him. “Pardon?”

“The Duchess has already left for her appointment,” the guard said. Most of his tone was lost to the vocalizer in his helmet, but Obi-Wan had the faint feeling he was judging him. Obi-Wan supposed he deserved it.

_ You are a free person with rights. _

_ Satine  _ was a free person. With her own choice.

There was a sudden burning in his eyes and burn of bile at the back of his throat.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. Force, what the fuck was he doing? Certainly, they hadn’t ended on the best of terms but had Satine thought so lowly of him that he would  _ force _ her to stay put and not go to the negotiations that she felt the need to side-step him by several hours?

He hadn’t treated Satine fairly, he saw that now. He could only hope that Satine wasn’t walking toward her death because of some stupid choices he’d made. Because as much as he  _ did _ want to stop Satine from putting herself into danger, he  _ had  _ to let her go.

“Ah, I see.” A guilty pit opened in his stomach. The dusk air suddenly felt quite cold.

She wouldn’t know how sorry he was, she wouldn’t know how much he regretted—

_ No _ . He couldn’t think as if her mission had already gone wrong. There he went, showing how truly little trust he had in her.  _ No _ , Obi-Wan could wait, he  _ would _ wait for Satine to return. This was now more than just Obi-Wan and his thoughts and feelings— whatever they may be. This was about Satine’s people and he would make himself respect that.

_ Trust in the Force and it shall guide you _ , a voice that sounded suspiciously like Master Qui-Gon whispered to him.

But he didn’t have to wait idly.

Obi-Wan turned to the guard. “Could I trouble you to find me the forensics report sent out about the bombing?”

Force forbid anything wrong happened, but if it did, Obi-Wan didn’t intend on sitting by as more people were injured if Death Watch’s threats proved true.

* * *

The night air was chilling against Satine’s face. Her hair was tied back and she wore a discrete cloak. Anyone who gave her a first glance would merely think that she and her guard were going down the street for an evening stroll.

A block away from the Memorial Shrine, she turned to Ude’tuun. “Thank you for accepting my decision in this.”

Satine had come, as requested, unarmed. There was a comlink stashed in her shoe, turned on, that the officer had the receiving signal to. She swallowed down the guilt and trepidation that were threatening to overwhelm her and make her turn back.

Ude’tuun’s expression twitched. “I still never said anything about agreeing to this, Duchess.”

Yes, Ude’tuun would make a splendid replacement for Almec, Satine thought. He already had the civil yet disagreeing tone down pat.

“Yet you didn’t try to stop me. Thank you,” she smiled, trying to ignore the tension boiling under her skin. She felt electric. “You remember our deal? Should anything happen to me . . .”

“ _ One may die but Mandalore is forever _ ,” Ude’tuun answered with the Mandalorian proverb. Satine smiled grimly. Mandalore always did have morbid sayings. But they were fighting words that her people lived by. She could respect that.

“I’ll be going on my own from this point, now,” she nodded at him.

“Of course.”

When Satine walked away she forced herself not to look back.

This was a monumental opportunity, she told herself. Of course she had nerves. But it was no different from when she would make a speech at a festival or an announcement.

Speaking and debating for her people was what she had been  _ born _ to do. There was more at stake here than just Satine.

Sometimes, when she fell asleep, she had nightmares of the lawless period during the war. The way people had died in the streets, poverty running rampant as utilities failed. Seeing that, Satine had sworn her people would never suffer in such a way again. Violence only bred violence.

And, well, Satine had come from a line of indomitable warriors. She may have stepped away from that legacy, but it had been  _ her _ choice. She was making her own legacy.

Satine tried to convince herself that this wasn’t her way of running away from the broken expression on Obi-Wan’s face.

With that thought, she turned the corner to face what remained of the Memorial Shrine. Her heart tugged at the image of the crumbled ruins surrounded still by the spotless gardens spreading around it. The scene was still somehow serene, the night air quietly breathing through the area. The universe must have a terrible sense of irony, Satine mused. 

There was a sole figure in the middle of the courtyard. She saw the glint of armor but there didn’t appear to be any weapons on the person.

Satine felt her hands tremble slightly and clenched them.

_ Breathe. _

“I presume you are with whom I am to make negotiations with regarding the bombings?” Satine called out, voice steady.

The person turned to her.  _ No crown symbol _ , she distantly realized. Whoever this was, it wasn’t the leader of Death Watch.

The soldier, a woman, spoke. 

“Not exactly.”

Suddenly there was someone behind her and a sharp pinch in her neck.

“How dare—” 

Satine stumbled backward into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kluub is yet another one of my OCs! (his name is Twi-lek for "tranquil") Yay for getting the mental help we need (going off of my own experiences and research! pls lmk if y'all have any tips for writing that kind of stuff... what even is the genre of this fic hah)
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


	14. XII: TAL'GALAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Satine meets the Death Watch, Anakin meets a special youngling, and Obi-Wan and Mace are irritated (but what else is new).
> 
> tal'galar - [Mando'a] to bleed, spill blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the final arc!! i'm Very nervous about the story, so all constructive feedback is welcome!! enjoy :)
> 
> [tw] semi-graphic depictions of torture tag is gonna start playing in

Satine woke up with an aching headache and a sore neck. She’d been tossed unceremoniously somewhere, and her body protested at any attempt at movement she made. When she opened her eyes, it was still dark and the musty air around her made her realize there was a cloth sack around her head.

She shifted, but her arms and legs were bound by what felt like manacles. She tried to stand up but the arm restraints stopped her. Sitting back down on the hard floor, Satine reached upward to try to take the sack off, but the chains restricted her movement too. Damn.

Satine tried stretching despite the chains. Her body ached, but nothing beyond unusual soreness. It didn’t feel like anything had been done to her, though wherever she was was frigid without her cloak. Her breathing felt heavy in her ears.

Clearly, Death Watch was organized but . . . _what had she expected?_ Satine thought bitterly.

Thinking that she could just waltz with terrorists and get them to _stop_ when she wasn’t even quite sure what they wanted outside of her out of the way. Right— their entire mission statement was Satine not being in power.

And now she was in captivity at their whim.

“Fuck,” Satine breathed softly. The sturdy cloth material suddenly felt quite claustrophobic.

There was a hiss across from her, the door of whatever confinement she was in, Satine supposed.

“And the sleeping beauty wakes,” a voice called mockingly from above her.

Satine froze. The voice was awfully familiar. _From the recording._ But this time, as the heavy footsteps approached her, she could tell the owner of the voice wasn’t wearing a helmet anymore. She knew what was coming and tried not to flinch as a hand roughly grabbed her face and ripped the sack off, chafing her chin. Satine’s face was forced up.

Her eyes burned at the sudden contrast of piercing white light. They focused on the figure before her.

Obi-Wan was right.

Pre Vizsla.

More jarring than the fact that he wasn’t wearing his usual robes but scored armor, was the disgusted expression that twisted his amicable features.

Satine twisted her face out of his gloved grip.

His blue eyes were chips of ice.

“You’re the leader of Death Watch,” she hissed. It wasn’t a question. Stars, she felt sick just looking at his face.

Faster than she could register, Satine found her face forced to the left, her cheek stinging and her ears ringing. She held back the urge to spit at Vizsla in disgust.

“You’ll speak when spoken to, _Duchess_ ,” Vizsla said coolly, cruel disinterest taking over his face.

Well. Pacifist or not, Satine would gladly watch Vizsla rot in a jail cell for the rest of his days. She must have unconsciously lunged forward, not that she could do much, but she became aware of the other Death Watch member in the room who had moved with her. The helmeted soldier, a woman by the build, holstered her blaster threateningly.

“No, no, don’t worry,” Vizsla shot a smug smile to the soldier. “The Duchess is just . . . getting used to our hospitality.”

A chilling silence took over the room. Satine glared in blind rage at the Governor, face stinging. She was sure somewhere inside, there was a part of her that wanted to cry from the betrayal of one the man who had certainly, at times, been a political rival of sorts, but she had _trusted_ him— 

But right now, she was just furious.

Vizsla sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh, very well, this isn’t very fun, is it? You can speak— I’m sure you have plenty of questions.”

“Where the hell are we?” Satine asked. A quick glance around showed that they were in a small, white chamber, the only markings in the wall being where the door was and where the chains that held her met the wall.

“Oh, I was expecting a more engaging question,” Vizsla shrugged. “Not that it will matter if you know. We found all your tracking devices on you. So sneaky yet ineffective,” he hummed. The unspoken words hung in the air between them— _no one will be coming for you_.

Satine steeled herself— she’d prepared herself for this. _One may die but Mandalore is forever_.

Vizsla spoke carelessly, “anyway, where did you expect? We’re on Concordia.”

Satine narrowed her eyes. “So the attack when we visited—”

“ _Obviously_ a ruse. Stars, Satine, you act as if we haven’t been subverting your people’s favor for the past few years,” Vizsla rolled his eyes again. “I’m done now.” He waved to the Death Watch soldier. “Get her to sign the documents.”

“What documents?” Satine spat, watching angrily as he left the cell. She was left alone with the soldier. She thought of the flowers Vizsla had given her when she’d been coronated— all the comm messages of support— all the looks of concern, the well-wishes— all of it was meaningless.

The Death Watch Soldier stepped forward, shouldering her blaster. She pulled out a datapad. “You’re going to sign this documentation that dissolves your council and position and shifts authority to a provisional government that will be led by the Death Watch.”

Satine didn’t hold back this time and took the saliva she’d collected in her mouth to spit at the Death Watch soldier. She moved back smoothly before it could hit her, head tilted in a manner that suggested irritation.

“What makes you think that I would follow through with this in any capacity?” Satine mocked, reinvigorated.

“People will die,” the Death Watch soldier intoned.

“The people will not stand for a government of tyrants,” Satine insisted.

“They already have for so long.”

The aloofness of the woman’s delivery sent white-hot rage through Satine’s veins. These accusations were thrown at her and her government and she was just fucking _stuck_ here, unable to do anything and people were going to get _hurt_ — 

“I’d like to see you make me sign that document,” Satine said, schooling her expression into one of disdain. She would not let up— Mandalore was worth more than just her.

“Oh, we will. I just thought I’d give you the easy option first.”

The Death Watch soldier put the datapad away. But instead of reaching for her blaster again, she reached for her helmet.

As it lifted, ginger locks escaped from the airlock and fell around pale, freckled features and piercing green eyes.

_No._

Now Satine really wanted to throw up. The fury that had boiled under her skin extinguished, leaving her cold and empty.

What looked like the ghost of her younger sister stared back at her.

There was another pinch in Satine’s neck and her eyes rolled into her head.

* * *

Throughout his sessions with Master Kluub, Anakin more often than not found himself wiping snot and tears from his face with a tissue. At first, he’d been mortified at the tears burning in his eyes, but Kluub merely offered him a box of tissues and let him continue. At first, the lack of judgment had been unsettling— in Anakin’s experience that sort of attitude was only seen when someone was _really_ manipulating you. But Master Kluub had stayed honest to his word, keeping their discussions private.

Having been grounded from missions (Anakin argued that he hadn’t even _been_ on a mission before Nar Shaddaa so it really didn’t change much), Anakin made a new routine between training with Master Windu and meeting with Master Kluub in the Halls of Healing twice a week.

Honestly, Anakin was just grateful that Master Windu hadn’t thrown him out. He’d told Master Kluub as much— he didn’t understand why Windu had been so . . . _understanding_. 

Windu had been his regular self for the most part during training, except for certain occasions where Anakin’s mouth would get away from him and he’d say something he was _sure_ would garner a scolding but Windu’s face had begun doing some strange spasm thing instead. Anakin wondered if getting a mechanical arm had messed up some of the electrical signals in Master Windu’s brain, but _he_ certainly wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it to the man. Strangely, Kluub seemed to find this anecdote quite amusing, but outside of that, he refrained from judgment.

Kluub rarely outright told Anakin things, instead preferring to ask open questions, occasionally offering explanations of the Jedi Code. For the most part, their sessions were Anakin just . . . _talking_. 

It was strange how relieving that felt. Anakin’s arms would shake and sometimes he would get light-headed as if he’d ran across the Temple, but his mind would be _clear_. When he talked about the thoughts that spiraled in his mind, when he slept, his dreams felt less tangled.

Talking to Obi-Wan was nice, but as of late, Anakin had felt the young man become more distracted and disconnected. He felt murky in the Force and Anakin wasn’t sure how to react to that.

Master Kluub lacked the sternness of Master Windu, but also told less deadpan jokes, which left Anakin feeling strangely bereft. 

Anakin had also mentioned feeling disconnected from the Temple, having nearly been rejected. It didn't help that he’d finally begun to take classes with Padawans his age, and he’d immediately been taken aside his first class for clashing with Padawan Olin. Anakin had tried his best to not let his frustration boil over, the smug bastard just _staring_ at him the whole time.

But Kluub instead had revealed that he too had been an older initiate. The Twi’lek had also recommended Anakin volunteer in various areas of the Temple, to better understand the different parts and how they worked together.

“Like a machine?” Anakin had asked.

“If that example helps you to understand, yes. Not every youngling becomes a Jedi Knight, many of them join the Service Corps instead. Without them, much of the Jedi Order as we know it would not function,” Master Kluub nodded.

Which was how Anakin found himself, yet again, lost in the Jedi Temple. It was slightly more embarrassing this time in that he was in the Padawan dormitories. But not having any reason to interact with his fellow Padawans, Anakin hadn’t felt the urge to set aside time to explore the dormitory outside of leaving it to train or study. 

He was just about to give up when he passed by a closed door and he felt a dozen or so curious minds brush up against his own. Anakin froze— normally padawans shielded their minds.

But the thoughts weren’t malicious. On the contrary, they felt light and happy, darting out to poke his mind then rushing away childishly. Huh.

Anakin raised his hand to knock on the door when he opened before him, a female Bothan greeting him with several younglings huddled behind her. 

“Ah, Padawan Skywalker. I heard you would be joining us. I am the Creche Master Vri’pek,” she smiled. Her voice was warm and soothing and Anakin could understand why she led the Creche. “Alas, we will be heading to a group meditation. I’m afraid there is not much you can assist with in that regard and it may be quite taxing on you if your shields are not strong.”

True, Anakin winced at the younglings' eager but invasive explorations through the Force. But he hadn’t come all this way to be turned away.

“Though, if you’d still like to help today, there is one youngling who has proved . . . a little problematic. She will not be joining us on this excursion, if you would like to watch over her.” Master Vri’pek added before Anakin could complain.

Caught between arguing for joining them and staying behind, Anakin finally shrugged, then corrected himself and nodded. “I would be happy to, Master.”

“Excellent.” The Master gave a kindly smile then ushered the youngling through the door. “Come now, young ones, we will head to the meditation halls now, yes.”

Anakin stepped aside hurriedly before he was trampled by the younglings. They moved with the clumsiness of childhood and yet had a strange grace to them. He wondered if that was what being attuned to the Force from a young age was like. Well, he was turning out alright despite being stuck on Tatooine for ten years. He shook himself and squared up to the doorway.

“Hello?” he called out. He stepped in cautiously, half-expecting an ambush. Who knew whatever monster could earn Master Vri’pek and all her motherly energy’s disapproval? The Creche was empty, modest beds rolled up and stacked to one side of the room.

He became aware of a rustling pile of blankets. The pile of blankets spoke to him.

“You don’t feel like the others.”

“Sorry?” Anakin blinked, edging closer to the piles.

The small head of a young Togruta poked out of the blankets. Anakin realized he’d only seen grown Togruta before and was caught off-guard by how her lekku seemed to dominate her features. It was awkwardly adorable. The youngling scowled at his half laugh.

“Who are you?” she frowned. “You’re a stranger.”

“I’m Padawan Skywalker,” Anakin awkwardly forced down his laugh and tried introducing himself. At the lack of reaction, he knelt down and whispered conspiratorially, “you can call me Anakin?”

The Togruta smiled widely, dislodging another blanket. “My name’s Ahsoka.”

Anakin grinned back. “Nice to meet you, Ahsoka.” The youngling didn’t seem too bad— he wondered what she had done to warrant not being able to go to group meditations. Though, in Anakin’s opinion, it didn’t exactly seem like that much of a punishment.

Apparently exchanging names was all she needed to then trust Anakin because she leaped out of the pile of pillows. “Let’s go someplace!”

“Wait what—” 

Anakin turned around and saw the tail ends of her lekku escape out of the Creche.

Nevermind. He completely understood Master Vri’pek’s disinclination to let Ahsoka distract the other initiates during a group meditation.

“Wait up!” He shouted, taking one last glance around the homely Creche before chasing after her.

* * *

During the civil war, it had been necessary for all members of political importance to be trained resisting intensive interrogation. The long hours of training had only cemented to Satine why such practice was inhumane. There were more effective methods for gathering intelligence.

Needless to say, it had been a long time since she had needed to practice. Outlawing torture tended to do that to people.

Satine woke up in a different room, her body held up in a sort of glowing stasis. She was unsure of what time it was. It took her a good minute to register that _this_ was her reality. 

Her body felt strangely weightless and yet pressure pressed on her. Satine tried to move but she was held steady by the force field. Below her, there was a panel full of knobs and levers. The room was empty.

At that, Satine allowed her face to collapse slightly as the memory flooded back to her. _Bo._ She looked . . . well, Satine could never say dressed in a terrorists’ outfit was _good_ , but she had _grown_. The stark lighting of the room had thrown harsh shadows onto her face, but her face had lengthened, grown into her features. Satine bit back a sob at the thought of her younger sister. She’d grown up worse than alone— _surrounded by Death Watch._

It seemed Satine had failed in more than one way— Obi-Wan’s hurt expression flashed behind her eyelids.

Satine had worried, had thought perhaps Bo had merely escaped off-world at some point. She had never been well-suited to the harsh back-and-forth of politics. Satine had understood her sister’s desire to escape it all. But she couldn’t understand _this_. 

This felt like standing at the grave of her _other_ sister’s funeral, holding onto the squirming body of her son as her body was lowered into the grave all over again. Except this time, the body was being pulled out of the grave and it had watched as Satine was slapped in the face and humiliated.

Another unseen door, neatly grafted with the wall, hissed open and Vizsla stepped through. Satine was almost glad her body was frozen in place or she probably wouldn’t have been able to control her jolt. Of anger or fear she wasn’t sure.

“Are you ready to sign the document, _Duchess_ ?” The title became a mockery in his voice. She wondered how she had never seen the deception before. _How_ had she been so blind?

“Never,” she bit out, sharply.

“I see.”

Satine would say Vizsla sounded disappointed, but after everything she’d seen so far, she doubted she could trust even that. It seemed the conspiracy had infiltrated all parts of her government— her _life_. Satine focused on not letting her resolve crumble or thinking about Bo. 

Vizsla stepped forward and pressed a few buttons. Satine opened her mouth to ask what he was doing when there was a click of a lever. Her jaw clamped shut and fire was spreading through her body _._

The pain was all-consuming. 

It was as if her torso had been dunked into icy water that simultaneously burned. Pain blindsided her and it was only the energy field she was held in that stopped Satine from completely collapsing as her muscles spasmed violently. All thoughts of Bo and Obi-Wan slipped from her mind in the haze.

Then, as soon as it began, the current was shut off. Satine breathed heavily, trying to catch her breath.

“Do you feel like signing it now?” Vizsla droned.

Satine felt a throbbing pulse behind her eyes and shakily looked up. Maybe she would lose. Maybe Death Watch would take over Mandalore and her place. But she would be damned if they were ever able to claim that their methods were in some way legitimate. Over her dead body.

For a moment though, she hesitated. _People will die_. But then Obi-Wan and Ude’tuun and Almec flashed behind her eyes and she relaxed her sore muscles, a small smile on her face. She had said horrible, horrible things to Obi-Wan. But she trusted in Obi-Wan to act with more honor. She trusted all of them. She only hoped that they trusted in her as well.

She met Vizsla’s expectant eyes.

“ _Go to hell._ ”

Vizsla sighed. “That’s about what I expected.” He pulled the lever again.

* * *

Obi-Wan tapped on the datapad, moving to the next page of the report. He was impressed— it seemed Mandalorians carried efficiency and meticulousness into all aspects of their society. Lots of detail was good— it distracted him. And Obi-Wan really needed a distraction right now.

The explosives were created using nano-droids that were inside their hosts. The two people who had been the bombs had no connections— they still weren’t sure if the bombers had been in on the plot or if the explosives had been consciously inserted. From the samples of biological evidence and types of tissue that remained at each site, it seemed likely that the nano-droids had been ingested.

Obi-Wan frowned to himself, settling in the small desk installed in his room. How had the Death Watch gotten such advanced technology? Satine had told him that the terrorist cell had been working largely underground for the past decade. Despite the left-over traces that allowed forensics to determine that it had been nano-droids, not enough evidence had been salvaged to get an idea of the design of what appeared to be ground-breaking technology. 

Too bad it was used for such destructive purposes.

He flipped through the diagrams, rubbing his eyes blearily. Well, hopefully at this point Satine would stop disputing with him that they were _clearly_ terrorists. 

Something in Obi-Wan ached at the thought of Satine—

 _Stop._ It had only been a few hours since the meet time— it was likely she was still just in negotiations. These things didn’t happen quickly.

Obi-Wan repeated the mantra to himself: this was more than himself and his feelings. The pages of data before him only confirmed it. If he wanted to do the right thing he had to take his perspective outward.

Thinking of a solution to this issue was distracting, at the very least. Certainly, it was better than the last time when Obi-Wan fell asleep only for his dreams to be filled with the feeling of his skin exploding from the inside. The slightly panicking feeling of _not knowing_ eased reading through the report, but the slight anxiety in his gut didn’t ease.

Obi-Wan put the datapad down, groaning. Every time his mind circled back around, somehow his thoughts snagged on thinking about _Satine._ Idly, he picked the datapad back up again, turning it on to let the cool light awash over him.

This was more than himself and his feelings. 

Obi-Wan spent an unknown amount of time distractedly reading through the pages of diagnostics before his eyes reluctantly fell shut, falling asleep looking at the diagrams.

* * *

Anakin chased Ahsoka through the halls until they were in an entirely different part of the Temple. For a youngling that had deceptively short legs, the Togruta was _fast_.

He nearly ran past the large, ornate glass doors that seemed out of place in the more modest halls of the Temple, until he felt the hum of Ahsoka’s mind. He pushed on the doors.

“I’ve got you now . . .” Anakin announced and immediately trailed off. He was surrounded by a miniature green paradise. Ahsoka stood before him, looking immensely pleased with herself.

“Ahsoka, where . . . are we?” Anakin trailed off, pausing to take in the massive, looming trees stretching around them. A faint mist hung in the air and there was the quiet chirp of insects and the gentle splashing sound of _running water?_ When he meditated, he could feel the buzz of the millions of minds on Coruscant. But this place seemed blanked the buzz with warmth and energy. It felt . . . _alive_.

“The Room of a Thousand Fountains,” Ahsoka skipped around. Her feet crunched through grass. “Sometimes I come here with my friends.” She sobered, “well, I want them to become my friends.”

Anakin felt a pang of sympathy and Ahsoka took the opportunity to prod at his mind. He flinched in surprise and drew up his shields again. 

Anakin tried to focus on what he was here to do. He was _supposed_ to be watching over Ahsoka. He tried to ignore the voice of Olin mocking him for his ignorance of everything. Saying he didn’t _deserve_ to have Master Windu— 

“Ahsoka, if you don’t get along with the other younglings, why do you keep trying to be their friends?” Anakin blurted out impulsively, distracting himself from his own thoughts. He also managed to distract Ahsoka from getting further lost in the room.

He looked away— he didn’t want to see that pitying judgment from a youngling. Force, _he_ was supposed to be the older one here.

Ahsoka met his eyes as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “Because it’s only when we all work together that we can help the most people. And isn’t that what being a Jedi is all about?”

Anakin blinked and the Togruta youngling ran off.

_Helping other people._

Hadn’t that been why he wanted to become a Jedi in the first place? Anakin felt the tranquil air of the hall sink into him, easing the tension of the last week from his shoulders. If someone who had been raised with the Jedi believed in that, surely it wasn’t wrong of Anakin to do the same? And Master Windu had continued to teach Anakin— surely that had to count for something? They all wanted to just _help_ people— hell, even Olin probably did under all that mumbling about the Code.

Helping other people. Huh.

Then he heard a suspicious splash and shriek.

“Mister Anakin! I’m stuck in the fountain!” Ahsoka cried out planatively from someplace.

“I’m coming!” Anakin shook himself out of his thoughts.

* * *

Satine woke up aching, still in the same enclosure as before. 

They had begun a routine. Each session, a Death Watch soldier would do all sorts of things to her, most often with electrocution, but sometimes they got creative. Satine’s lungs still hurt from when they’d poured chilling water through a cloth onto her. Vizsla had called that one off— shouting that she was no good for them dead.

Well, that was something reassuring, she supposed. Of course, that had no indication for what would happen _if_ Satine signed.

Then Bo would come in, silently offering her the datapad and a pen, to which Satine would spit. She hadn’t taken off the helmet since that first time— but Satine _knew_ it was her. It was in the way she stood, the way she held herself knowing even the sight of her was like a stab in Satine’s chest.

“The problem,” Vizsla announced, walking into her cell. “Is that you still have too much pride. You have this idea that your way of government is actually meant to last,” he laughed. “I think it’s time that you come to terms with the reality of your situation.”

Satine kept her mouth shut, boring a hole into his forehead.

Vizsla waved forward another guard, who held a glinting tool in hand. _A razor_.

Satine’s head was forced down by a rough hand and she watched as her pale locks of hair fell down around her face like a wreath, hiding her gaze in shadow. The electric razor activated with a hum and she shut her eyes as large strokes sheared off uneven chunks of her hair.

They would make her kneel, but she would never bow to them, Satine told herself.

It didn't stop the burning tears from threatening to fall. It was different than the angry, betrayed tears that she summoned up to distract herself from the pain of electrocution. This was relatively painless, but for the crick in her neck. 

But there was a smaller, pettier side of her that cried out at the violent hum in her ears.

Mandalorians were a proud people and, well, Satine could admit that she could be prideful. But this wasn’t just a lesson to the vain— this was outright humiliating. _Dehumanizing._ And the fact that she was here, locked up in a place she wasn’t quite sure, with no one else aware of her whereabouts— it was disparaging.

When the heavy hold finally relinquished her, she looked up, taken aback at how light her head felt and further ashamed of how much the sensation bothered her.

“Satine,” Vizsla said softly. Satine looked up, determined to meet his gaze— _it was just another mind game_ , she told herself. “Look at me.”

Satine grit her teeth. _She was._

“Now look at yourself.” His voice was cloying, suggestive. 

Unwillingly, Satine let her eyes drag down to the clean hand mirror he held. The craftsmanship of the Mandalorian ware contrasted with her worn, beaten look was like some twisted irony. Here she was, strung to the wall like a fish that had been baited, hooked, and led to slaughter. Her hair was raggedly shaved, almost befitting the purple bruises that marred her face.

Perhaps the worst part was, was that Satine was still, despite the unknown hours of torture, still beautiful. There was a grace and sternness in her eyes that had yet to break. That Vizsla knew. 

And then something shifted in Satine. It was minute, a tiny little thing that had changed in how she saw herself. It wasn’t the hair. Maybe it was the electrocution, maybe it was the way her thoughts felt so hazy sometimes she wasn’t sure what she was even saying. But something in her had changed and Satine knew one thing with distinct certainty.

She had failed Mandalore.

“Would you like to sign the document?” Vizsla asked again, the other soldier finally stepping back. Satine avoided looking down at the mass of platinum blonde locks covering the floor.

She had failed Mandalore the moment she had begun judging by appearances and had forgotten to be cautious. To be aware. She had let a snake too near and had pushed any potential of happiness she had far, far away.

The words to accept his offer were on the tip of her parched tongue. Satine wavered.

But then she closed her eyes and she saw ginger hair glinting in the sunlight and a warm laugh and a foreign-but-familiar accent and Satine dug up the last of her strength. 

It wasn’t too hard to speak from the heart.

“Fuck off.” She rasped.

“Hm.”

In that moment, the last of that little part in Satine died and if Vizsla had asked her again in that moment, she wasn’t sure what she would have said.

Instead, she felt the holding stasis wrench her back up into an upright position and the familiar click of the lever. Electricity coursed through her body.

Satine lost awareness of the world after that.

* * *

Obi-Wan woke with a splitting headache and the imprint of a datapad on his cheek. His head felt heavy and strange. Before he had time to think about the migraine, he became aware of a pounding— not on his skull but on the door.

He stumbled up groggily, wrenching open the door.

“Officer Ude’tuun,” he blinked, trying to smooth his hair embarrassedly. _He’d thought it was Satine._ He wasn’t sure what it said about him that he would have been less flustered for Satine to see him in such disarray. He’d think about that later.

“Sorry, Master Kenobi, but I was wondering if I could come in?” The man’s face looked pinched.

“Of course, of course.” Obi-Wan moved to the side and sat on his bed, giving his chair to the officer.

“I didn’t want to disturb you earlier, but we have reason to suspect that the Duchess has been captured.”

Obi-Wan stared at him in disbelief. “You didn't think that this was pressing news to tell me?” He stood up and began pacing. 

Ude’tuun winced. “We weren’t precisely sure. We weren’t exactly sure of what measures they’d taken to ensure that the Duchess was . . . alone, as per their agreement, so we stayed behind for a half hour or so. We had constant communication with the Duchess, though, through a comlink.” His expression darkened, “but it appears that all of our trackers were disabled when she was moved to a second location.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, concentrating on the headache still pulsing behind his eyes. Indeed, the headache wasn’t his own. It stemmed from the bond that still lingered in his mind.

_Satine._

She was being hurt, in some capacity. Obi-Wan tried to push aside the thought that it _still wasn’t quite as painful as when he’d told Satine about the Council_. Or when she’d accused him of being inhuman.

“Well, do you have any idea where that second location is?” he asked, controlling his voice carefully.

Ude’tuun hesitated. “We have reason to suspect she may be on Concordia.”

The memory of briefly meeting the Governor of Mandalore’s moon flashed through Obi-Wan’s mind. He remembered cool blue eyes and impeccable poise. He remembered the unease he’d felt wafting off of the man.

 _He’d wanted to know where Satine was,_ Obi-Wan recalled, ice settling into his stomach.

“I need to get her— she’s in danger, I can sense it,” Obi-Wan demanded, stepping forward. His feelings may not matter, but in this and the strategic welfare of Manalore’s political future, they were aligned.

“Shouldn’t you check with your Jedi Council, first?” Ude’tuun raised an eyebrow. “If the negotiations have gone awry, I doubt Death Watch will go back on their promise to begin the bombings anew. We must protect Mandalore’s citizens.”

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to clench his fists. _Wait, wait,_ he told himself. _He always waited!_ another voice cried out. When he blinked he saw burning, red ray shields and a horned man.

“Very well, I will check with the Council.” He forced his voice to stay steady. He stepped back. “Could I have some privacy for this?” 

“Of course. I’ll be outside,” Ude’tuun said shortly.

As soon as he exited, Obi-Wan let out a rattling breath. He closed his eyes and stretched out with his mind. _Satine_. 

Her mind was open to him, but unresponsive. She was hurt— he could feel it in the ache in his head and the way his chest seemed to tingle as their minds connected.

But he was a Jedi first and foremost, Obi-Wan reminded himself derisively. _You shouldn’t need to disclose every piece of information about your private life to just anyone_. Well, this wasn’t just about them anymore. This was a democracy that was being threatened once more, and that made it the business of the Republic and Jedi Council. 

This wasn’t for love, it was his duty.

Strangely, his hand hesitated over the comlink. _Faster_ , he told himself. Every moment counted— his migraine had eased slightly, but it was still there. Whoever was hurting Satine . . . they weren’t going to stop until they got what they wanted.

But he’d been so quick to jump to wanting the Council’s advice before— when he was unsure of himself. But now . . . now, Obi-Wan felt like he knew exactly what he needed to do, but there were always things blocking his way. 

Swallowing down his frustration, he pressed the button to open his channel more aggressively than needed.

After a few moments of dead air, the comlink chimed and a projection of the whole Jedi Council appeared before him. Obi-Wan bowed his head respectfully.

“Masters, I need your advice on how I should proceed. The Duchess has been taken captive by the Death Watch. However, we have information that there will be further bombings. Which lead do you believe I should prioritize?”

Silence.

The Masters all bore expressions of contemplation and Obi-Wan shifted in his stance, half-considering asking if his connection was spotty. Perhaps they were thrown off by the beard?

“Troubling, this is indeed, Knight Kenobi,” Yoda finally said. His eyes were solemn. “Care for the Duchess you do. However, more lives at stake than just one there is.”

“With this new information, you are to look into preventing major loss of life on Mandalore,” Master Windu clarified, brow furrowed.

Obi-Wan gave a grim smile, shoving the feeling of being vivisected down. “Yes, Masters. I bid my leave now. This operation is time-sensitive,” he added, a bit bitterly.

“May the Force be with you,” the Masters responded solemnly.

The channel cut off.

Obi-Wan took a few breaths, doing his best not to hyperventilate. Panicking now wouldn’t solve either problem, Satine, or the bombings.

The thought didn’t stop him from taking a few more moments to himself, feeling the tightness in his chest ease slightly as he took steadying breaths.

There was a gentle knock on the door. “Master Kenobi?” A muffled voice called from the other side.

Obi-Wan opened the door roughly. He watched in very un-Jedi satisfaction when Ude’tuun stepped back slightly at the coldly furious look on his face. Well, he was getting what he wanted, Obi-Wan thought viciously.

“We’ll be looking into the bombings. I know prisoners were moved to Mandalore. Where did you put them?”

* * *

Following the mission to Nar Shaddaa, Mace had been swamped by suddenly new responsibilities that seemed to appear out of nowhere. There were appointments in the Halls of Healing to organize Padawan Skywalker’s sessions around his training and Mace’s own physical therapy with the prosthetic arm, not to mention Depa asking him to temporarily take over a few of her afternoon classes with younglings while she left on a mission. All of those combined with Mace already being a Master on the Jedi Council and having a young Padawan was making him feel on edge.

Speaking of Padawan Skywalker— the boy had become, if possible, more jittery since the return of their mission. He’d obediently worked on all of the readings, not complaining even when Mace quizzed him on dates and events throughout the Jedi’s quite extensive history. If Mace was being honest, it was almost disconcerting how pliant he was.

And yet, of course, now was when Skywalker had taken Mace’s lessons to heart and had assembled a competent enough shield that Mace had no way of reading his Padawan’s emotions outside of talking. 

Mace was certain Skywalker must have been talking about his experiences during his therapy sessions, which he was relieved that his Padawan hadn’t outright rejected, but that didn’t change that something had shifted between them. Skywalker had said he trusted him, and the Force had rung with the truth of it, but Mace couldn’t figure out what had changed. 

He was unwilling to resort to his normal brusque manner of confrontation, filled with the feeling that that wouldn’t quite work in this situation.

That was new.

Mace had thought showing Skywalker that he could care less about the arm would have helped. In the arena, dark and light crackling around them, Mace had seen a different side of Skywalker. Of _Anakin_. And part of him understood.

The Code was a way of life. But life did not always abide by the Code. Mace understood that more than most and now he just needed to convey that to his Padawan.

Unfortunately, now he was sitting in on a Council meeting that he really thought was not addressing the most pressing of matters.

Mace sat back in his chair, frowning to himself. Knight Kenobi’s pain and anguish had rippled through the room— all the Masters had felt it and yet none spoke up. In his mind’s eye, he could see his Padawan echoed in Kenobi. Two Jedi struggling with attachment. But in Skywalker’s case, Mace was doing his best to lead his Padawan in the right direction, to help him learn to balance his emotions.

The Council seemed willing to let Kenobi sink. 

After the Council session was adjourned, he approached Master Yoda.

“Master, I thought we had agreed that Knight Kenobi’s mission on Mandalore was the Duchess?” The words felt dirty in his mouth, but Mace waited for an answer. _Have we changed our decision?_

Yoda confirmed his thoughts with a heavy nod. “The risk of life lost too great it is. Prioritize elsewhere we must for now. Prioritize elsewhere Knight Kenobi must.”

Mace supposed it was good that the Council was able to put aside their self-assigned ‘mission’ enough when there was a real threat to people. Intervention could have been used earlier, if Knight Kenobi’s reports were anything to go by.

Then Mace registered. _For now._

“Have your visions not changed, Master?” Mace cautiously asked.

Yoda shook his head, ears wilting slightly. “Have not changed, Master Windu. Hope that this strife will present an adequate stimulus to Knight Kenobi I do.” The Grand Master sighed and shook his head again, then made to walk away.

Mace blinked, still reeling. “Wait, Master Yoda.” He hurried behind Yoda. “Are you saying that this is to . . . further test Knight Kenobi?” This could not be acceptable to the Code. This had bypassed the stage of attempting to challenge a Knight so that he could grow— it was bordering on the sort of experimentation that even the Republic had deemed illegal.

Yoda met his incredulous gaze solemnly. “Terrible visions I have seen, Master Windu. Terrible visions.”

“I see.”

But he didn’t and Mace had the feeling that Master Yoda could see into him and saw that as well. He let Yoda shuffle away without another word, a hollow feeling in his chest. Mace took a deep breath. Perhaps his conversation with Skywalker could wait.

Mace needed to practice katas.

* * *

Anakin sat down in the dining hall, fully exhausted after safety depositing a squirming, slightly damp Ahsoka to Master Vri’pek. But before he tucked into the normal meal of acceptably bland dishes, he looked up at the other Jedi in the hall.

They were all dressed in similar, muted tones in robes he noticed, though some had different insignia on their coats. _Different parts of the same whole,_ Master Kluub had told him.

Anakin also noticed a boy with silvery skin also eating alone, a small pile of droid parts before him. He’d never seen him in any of his classes, but he had the sort of modest manner of a Padawan.

Anakin stood, tray in hand, before he was quite aware of what he was doing.

He was just going to walk by and side-eye the parts, Anakin told himself. See what model they were.

Anakin sat before the boy, loudly saying, “cool droid parts.”

The Padawan looked up in surprise, silver eyes staring up at Anakin.

“Thanks. They’re from a scrapped RIC fourth-gen, I think,” the boy said, looking at the parts.

Anakin found his mouth rambling before he could stop himself. “RIC third-gen. Look at the way the grooves are inlaid to the wheels.”

The boy looked at the part for a moment then conceded it to Anakin. “Oh, thanks.” He looked a bit shyly at him. “I’m Tru Veld. What’s your name?”

“You don’t know who I am?” Anakin blurted instead of a normal answer. Like his name.

After all, he thought bitterly, didn’t everyone know him as the Padawan that always messed up? The Padawan that got his Master’s arm chopped off? The Padawan that was too old? The Padawan that wasn’t good enough?

Tru just stared at him, confused. “No?”

Suddenly, Anakin felt a bit abashed, “oh, uh. I’m Anakin Skywalker.”

Tru nodded, not missing a beat. “Cool, do you want to help me rebuild this so it’s more efficient than a RIC fifth-gen?”

Anakin grinned at the challenge, raising an eyebrow at Tru. “Don’t you think we can get it to sixth-gen functionality?”

The silver-skinned Padawan reflected the smile back at him. “I like how you think.”

Anakin glowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was super excited for bitty ahsoka and bo-katan to make their debuts!
> 
> thank you for any comments & kudos :> they give me life!


	15. XIII: HOPE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which matters get worse before they get better. Thank Force for FaceTime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo these are getting wordy. thank y'all for the kudos & comments on the last chapter. hope you like this one :)

Satine wasn’t sure what she expected when she roused herself the pained, half-daze she’d slipped into when someone entered the room. Her body was one mass of aches and her teeth felt oddly rubbery. There were faint puncture marks on her skin, yellow bruises standing out clearly on her skin. She dreaded to think what the sadists had been pumping into her.

And that part of Satine that had shifted when her hair had been so ungraciously sheered of remained determinedly loose, knocking down a few other supports with it. She felt hollow.

It was almost liberating to realize they couldn’t hurt her anymore. There was nothing left to lose.

It was only the misconceived tatters of her pride that stopped her from calling out to the bugs she knew were in the cell for them to roll out the treaty right then and there. 

Slowly, she noticed that the visitor was Bo, no datapad in sight. Her helmet was tucked into her arm, her eyes boring into Satine.

Satine managed to summon up some of her wit. “What are you here for? Taking your turn with torturing me?” she mocked. Perhaps it was petty. Perhaps it would only make the torture worse later. The scary part of her that was becoming dangerously apathetic wondered what the difference would be if she _did_ just sign the documents. 

Satine started at the floor with glassy eyes— she had failed in spirit. Was that not the goal of torture? She had crumbled internally, externally— they just had to hand her the pen. 

“No, can you not constantly be so irritatingly self-sacrificing?” A look of disgust spread across Bo’s expression.

Satine bowed her head. “What did you come in here for?” Because maybe, somewhere deep inside the cold rubble, she still _hoped—_

“Were you ever going to ask?” Bo stepped forward, glare renewed.

“Ask what?” Satine asked, blinking slowly. She’d just askd something, hadn’t she? Her brain felt like it was working at half-capacity, sluggishly trying to connect thoughts.

“Why I left. Why I joined _them_ ,” Bo gestured around the room. The almost vulnerable look in her green eyes made something in Satine’s chest ache.

Well, maybe she’d been a bit scared to think of that. But she wasn’t going to justify whatever mind game this was with a response. They were wasting their time.

Bo shifted, rolling her eyes. “I’ve deactivated the audio recorders in the room. There’s no footage either— Vizsla is too paranoid for those kinds of records.”

Oh, Satine supposed he tortured people a lot then.

She hadn’t made up her mind yet to trust Bo, but she found her mouth moving anyway. Perhaps it was the guilt of an older sister.

“I’d thought you were dead,” Satine deflected lamely. Lie.

She’d known the feeling when their sister had died. She’d known Bo wasn’t dead. 

She bowed her head. It was still a strange sensation to not be able to hide behind her hair. “I’m sorry, Bo,” she said, softer.

Her younger sister sat down before her, ginger locks looking oversaturated in the stark lighting. Bo had their mother’s hair, Satine remembered with a pang. She had taken after their father. For a brief moment, Bo looked slumped and small. Satine was overcome with the urge to wrap her in a blanket like when they were kids.

The illusion shattered when Bo spoke, her eyes cold chips of green again. “What do you even remember of when I went missing?”

A lump solidified in Satine’s throat. She closed her eyes, taking her back to that time. It had been . . . hellish. Stumbling through her grief of their father’s grisly death by the other clan leaders, Satine had accepted the title of Duchess. Shortly after, they’d been forced out of the palace, into a wild chase of planet-hopping when two Jedi joined them . . . .

“There was the coronation, then we’d gone into hiding—” 

“Wrong. _Wrong._ Of course you’d forgotten,” Bo cut her off scathingly. “You didn’t just _become_ the Duchess of Mandalore.”

A part of memory that Satine had overlooked hit her. _Oh._ “There was a vote,” she breathed.

“Yeah. If you spent a bit longer looking at the constitution you claim so much to protect, you’d remember that there was a vote to decide between the eligible contestants of Clan Kryze,” Bo scoffed. She turned away, shoulders tense. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” she said softly. Satine winced at the hurt radiating off her sister. How had she not noticed . . . ?

Satine protested, a touch defensively, “but you hate politics.”

Her sister whipped around, angry tears brimming. “And I hate these fucking people, too! I was never _good enough_ for them. I didn’t _look_ Mandalorian enough for them, wasn’t Mandalorian enough for father. And yet you— _you_ — tear down centuries of _Mandalorian_ tradition and everyone is just _fine_ with that?”

_Hate is another way for people to manifest feelings of hurt._

Bo wiped at her eyes furiously until they were red-rimmed but dry. “Don’t give me that fucking look. You were too busy being father’s favorite— don’t act all high and mighty _now._ ”

Huh. Right when Satine thought she had hit her low point, she realized there was a whole ravine beneath her. Because it was _true_. All her childhood, sure, she’d played with both her sisters, but Satine hadn’t been able to deny how watching the Council sessions was fascinating to her. Watching the political tit for tat had been _her_ playtime and Adonai Kryze had quickly picked up on his middle child’s potential as his successor. 

The rest of the world seemed to fade away when Satine sat in on meetings and felt _important._

Bo had never been the first choice. Not on the playground or by mother and father. Mother and her stunning red hair marked her as an off-worlder, but she’d been beloved by the people until her premature death. Bo hadn’t been extended the same courtesies. 

And children could be _cruel_. It hadn’t taken long for Satine to notice how all the children with smooth pale skin and shining blonde hair had their groups and it’d always seemed that there just hadn’t been room for Bo. Satine had tried but . . . how hard had she _really_ tried?

And, well, thinking— _acknowledging_ — that Satine had played a part in that exclusion— this _pain_ in her sister. It didn’t feel great. It twisted a part of her that hadn’t gone stiff yet and, fuck, it hurt. 

Satine grimaced. 

“Bo. I’m sorry. I had no clue how that felt. And I’m sorry.” She looked down, unable to meet her sister’s gaze. A few words didn’t fix years of bitterness.

“So when did you join Death Watch?” she asked softly, not entirely sure she wanted to know. But if this was Bo’s vindictive way of getting back at her . . . she’d certainly earned it.

“I ran away.” Bo said shortly. “At first, I was actually captured by them— they recognized me as a Kryze. But after I realized what they were about and they realized what _I_ was about . . .” she trailed off, expression darkening. “It was just another hierarchy and I climbed it.”

The words sent a chill up Satine’s spine. The part of her that had played at older sister squeezed painfully. Bo, who had vengefully stuck her hand in the sweets container when she’d been mad at mother and had always walked in the grey side of morality. Satine wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what Bo had done to become a lieutenant in Death Watch.

Perhaps thankfully, Bo didn’t seem willing to divulge past that. Her part said, she stood up, apparently done with whatever strange sisterly-bonding she’d intended for this to be. Satine wasn’t sure what to say, afraid to shatter the tentative truce that seemed to have appeared.

As excruciating as it was, it felt _good_ to talk to Bo, Satine realized. To build something for once instead of feeling like everything was crumbling around her, inside of her.

Bo paused before the door. “Goodbye, Satine.” There was almost a hesitance to her voice.

“Goodbye, Bo,” Satine said softly. She wasn’t sure if she imagined Bo hesitate before putting her helmet back on and leaving.

Something rekindled in Satine’s chest.

* * *

Obi-Wan felt the lift descend into the lower levels of the Mandalorian prison. The clean beams and sharp corners that marked much of Mandalorian architecture even extended down here and the part of him that wasn’t consumed in anxiety dredged up amusement that, of course, only _Mandalorians_ would decorate their high-security prison.

“So your men have been unable to get anything out of them?” Obi-Wan asked Ude’tuun.

“Yes. Six suspected members have been held in custody but none of them have confessed to anything yet,” Ude’tuun answered.

Obi-Wan frowned and looked at his datapad. “I suppose I’ll start with Gaan Vizsla.” He raised an eyebrow. “Any relation to the other Vizslas?”

Ude’tuun peered at the file. “Hm, I believe this one is actually of Clan Wren, but he went as Vizsla, as is his right since Clan Wren does fall under the jurisdiction of House Vizsla.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan stared at the cool blue eyes in the file. They were eerily reminiscent of Governor Vizsla. The more he thought about it— there were too many coincidences. The explosion, the assault . . . he couldn’t imagine that the Governor _didn’t_ have ties to Death Watch.

He had sent a com to the Governor regardless, doubtful but hoping he would have helpful information. The man had given a convincing frown, apologizing that he’d heard no word from the Duchess. Obi-Wan hadn’t been sure if the flickers through the Force he’d felt were only his own preconceptions. But if the man _was_ lying to Obi-Wan . . . . He couldn’t make any promises on his behavior.

They stepped into a hallway of clear glass enclosures, each with a different prisoner.

“The cells are secured with blaster-proof glass that is one-way,” Ude’tuun assured him.

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll head in then. I work best alone.”

Ude’tuun nodded and unlocked Vizsla’s door. Obi-Wan could’ve sworn he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _you’re not the only one._

The thought escaped him when he entered the cell. Gaan Vizsla wore cuffs and didn’t look up as the door opened. His blond curls were in a disarray but he didn’t look all that worse for wear. Obi-Wan felt anger spark up in him. He knew that Satine had not been offered the same hospitality. 

“Did you know about the plans to bomb Mandalore?” Obi-Wan asked slowly. Something in his voice made Gaan look up.

“Bombs? I don’t know anything about bombs.” There was a derisive tone that made Obi-Wan bristle.

He stepped forward, a tiny push in the Force making Gaan sit up. Obi-Wan touched his mind— there was irritation and surprise at the forefront of his mind.

“I’ll ask you again, as a member of Death Watch, did you know about the plans to bomb Mandalore?” Obi-Wan pressed forward, applying the slightest pressure to Gaan’s chest. The man shifted, clearly uncomfortable but seemingly unsure of where the force came from.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about— I’ve been here for weeks since the Duchess came to Concordia. I haven’t seen my family in _weeks_ , I don’t know what the hell this is for but I’m pretty sure this is against my rights,” Gaan scowled, brow furrowing in discomfort.

Obi-Wan dropped all pretenses at civility and pushed into the man’s mind. He was hardly Force-sensitive and he easily felt his way through the man’s jumbled emotions and confusion. Well, he wasn’t lying about not knowing.

 _Did you know about the bombings?_ Obi-Wan demanded again. He shoved the feelings of how the victims had felt— _burning, pain, crumbling away_ — and fear spiked in Gaan’s mind. _Do you know where the Duchess is? Have you participated in any treasonous acts against Mandalore? Are you a member of Death Watch?_

With each question, Gaan’s expression became more and more twisted in pain. He’d backed himself into the corner of his cell, sweat beading on his forehead. “I don’t know— _I don’t know_ — what are you _doing_ to me—” he moaned.

There was nothing. _Nothing._

Obi-Wan felt frustration bubble up in him. This man had been arrested on Concordia— _why_ was there nothing in him? 

He reached his mind out, using his anger to tear into the other five prisoners. _Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing—_ nothing. The Force screamed at his fingertips and he felt so _angry_.

“I don’t know, please _stop_ ,” Gaan cried out, collapsing to his knees. “Please, I’ll tell you anything— what do you want to know—” 

“ — Master Kenobi, stop what you’re doing!” The door burst open and Obi-Wan distantly felt a hand grasp his shoulder. “Master Kenobi!” _Officer Ude’tuun._

Obi-Wan blinked and came back to himself, relinquishing his Force hold on Gaan, who collapsed. Pulling himself away from the six minds, Obi-Wan felt a strange hollowness inside.

With a pinched expression, Ude’tuun forcefully led Obi-Wan outside. “Forgive me for my language, but what the hell was that, Master Kenobi?” He asked harshly, displeasure radiating off of him. “I would’ve thought a _Jetti_ would know that is not how we do things on Mandalore.”

“I . . . I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said shakily. “I got carried away.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I was able to find out that none of them know anything.”

Ude’tuun’s expression got more irritated. “Nothing? _Nothing?_ ” It wasn’t apparent who he was more irritated at.

“Yeah.” Obi-Wan sighed. “Who precisely facilitated the prisoners coming here?”

“Governor Vizsla,” Ude’tuun said, confirming his suspicions. Governor Vizsla was, one way or another, involved in this.

Obi-Wan frowned. “Well, you can have the prisoners released. They know nothing— probably haven’t committed a crime in their lives.” He headed for the lift, Ude’tuun not far behind.

“And what will you be doing?” The officer was still miffed at him.

Obi-Wan just couldn’t figure out how this all fit together.

“I need to make a call.”

* * *

It was the holovid of a man exploding that made Satine consider the possibility that the piece that had broken inside of her wasn’t a lost cause. 

“Perhaps, you lack motivation, because you do not truly understand the threat,” Vizsla stood before her. He pulled out a holorecorder. “Maybe this will help you see.”

It was a man in a sealed room, a testing facility of sort. A Mandalorian citizen by the look of him. He was babbling something, but the audio was off on the recording.

Despite her attempts to remain aloof, revulsion and nausea crept up on Satine as she watched the characteristic shifts in undertones began. She looked away. She knew how the recording ended.

“No, no,” Vizsla tsked. “You need to _watch_ , Satine.” She flinched at the way he drawled her name.

“You can’t imagine how long it took us to get the explosion right once we received the shipments. Too little and there was no _pizazz_ , too much and, well.” Vizsla chuckled then stepped forward and forced Satine’s head up. “ _Watch_.” He demanded.

Satine looked up, breath catching in her throat at the sight of the man gruesomely explode.

 _She had failed her people._ Had failed Almec. Had failed Bo. Had failed Obi-Wan, the moment he had handed his trust to her.

“If it makes you feel better, he was a traitor,” Vizsla shrugged, letting the video replay on loop. He didn’t comment when Satine looked away again, feeling her empty stomach protest. “To both you and I.” He finally put the holorecorder away. “Indeed, it was a messy business figuring out the right balance, but an excellent way to swiftly dispose of traitors in a . . . clandestine manner.”

Satine put on a show of scoffing. Funny how disgust was one of the first feelings to return to her.

“I find such acts of ‘punishment’ barbaric. The whole lot of it is.” She was surprised to feel that she meant it. Even a member of Death Watch deserved . . . not this. She had seen behind the mask. No one deserved a death so painful and terrible.

Vizsla’s expression hardened. “Okay, I get it— you’re still playing your haughty Duchess act. But maybe you’ll feel less righteous when you realize that this is the fate _you’ve_ condemned your people to by being noncompliant with us.” He pulled up a new hologram, a chart shaded a small sliver.

“This is the percentage of your population that we’ve installed our nano-droids into. Which, indeed, doesn’t seem like much. But, trust me, it will seem like a lot when the majority of those people are condensed in Sundari,” Vizsla gave a cold smile. “And all with a push of a button— I can make them go off.

“You may be thinking— _he’s a liar, he’s just bluffing!_ But no, bluffing is for the weak. The Death Watch is _strong_. We have no need for anything but the cold, hard truth.”

“And what about this is supposed to convince me to sign this? What plans do you have for Mandalore— are you going to stick bombs inside every citizen that doesn’t obey you?” Satine asked, hoping _her_ bluff would hold.

Vizsla’s eyes hardened. “If we must. You must understand, my only goal is to restore the honor of Mandalore to its former glory. All we need is a _Mand'alor_ — the rest shall follow suit.”

Satine forced down the instinctive laughter at the thought of _Vizsla_ claiming the title of _Mand’alor_. He was certainly full of himself enough to warrant the title. 

For most Mandalorians, the idea of a _Mand’alor_ was full of mixed connotations, between the pride in their people and the dark history that accompanied it. The _Mand’alor_ was from a time before democracy and the prosperity they now had— not many wanted to remember it. And some, Satine looked at Vizsla with revulsion, coveted it.

The only reason Vizsla was spending so much effort to try to coerce her into signing into place the provisional government was because, outside of trying to have a pitiful semblance of legitimacy from the Republic, he was a stickler for tradition. Certainly, Death Watch could, and had tried to, simply dispose of her, but Mandalorian traditions demanded rite and transformation.

Satine supposed she should be grateful. Unsurprisingly, she couldn’t seem to summon up that particular emotion.

“Well, Duchess,” Vizsla jeered, “do continue to think about our proposal.” Satine didn’t look up to watch him leave. There was a moment of silence, the room’s soundproofing not even allowing a natural ambiance to establish.

Satine took a shuddering breath, finding that trying to collect herself when she couldn’t move any of her limbs was impossible. Stars, she _knew_ she’d told Ude’tuun what she had meant— resources were not to be expended while they dealt with the bombing situation. But, a tiny part of her had— _foolishly, stupidly_ — hoped. But in the dead silence of the room, it was easy to lose hope. 

She’d already lost it once. 

“Hey, it’s just hair, why the long face?” A voice teased.

Satine was surprised at the strength of the relief that hit her at the familiar voice. “Bo?” 

It still felt like a slap in the face whenever Bo didn’t send a sullen glare her way. A good slap in the face, but a slap nonetheless.

“Sorry, how are you?” Bo gave Satine a more serious once-over, frowning. 

“About as well as one can feel after being tortured for however long it’s been,” Satine said wryly. Part of her wanted to break down right then— to sob and bawl and just fall to pieces in front of Bo. 

But she wouldn’t. Bo could never know how far Satine had fallen before she miraculously chose to speak up because _that_ would break Bo and Satine would never let that happen. Call it her toxic, older sister-ruler complex. 

Bo’s expression crumpled a little. She looked to the side, eyes pensive. “You know they don’t really care about the document? Vizsla is intent on taking over Mandalore regardless. They are going to kill you.”

Satine tilted her head, a strange warmth in her chest. She hadn’t thought Bo cared.

“And what do you want me to do with that?” she asked softly.

Bo wrung her hands, a habit from their childhood. “Can you reconsider signing the document?”

_What?_

Satine stared at her, stone-faced, trying to bury down the sudden dagger of betrayal that wrenched in her. How easy exhaustion was to bury underneath anger. She should’ve known it was a farce. Should have known her sister wouldn’t have joined Death Watch with any other plan but this one.

Considering that Satine had been on the precise, nay, she’d been _ready_ to sign, she felt she shouldn’t feel so betrayed. But she did. Bo’s words, as coarse and blunt as they were . . . 

_They had saved Satine._

Expectation did breed dissapointment.

“ _Hear_ me out. They are going to _torture_ you until you submit, you understand that?” Bo said, a strange quality to her voice. 

Of course Satine knew that. She felt it every time she screamed herself hoarse, her teeth clacking shut as her whole body contorted. She knew this didn’t have a happy ending— for her.

_One may die but Mandalore is forever._

Somehow, the mantra wasn’t as reassuring as it had been before. It felt too real now.

“ _Satine_ — listen to me. They don’t give a fuck about the document— once you sign it, they’ll kill you.” Satine bit back a cruel laugh— _this_ was Bo’s shitty pitch? She was less made for politics than Satine had imagined.

“But if you don’t sign it, they’ll just keep torturing you until you die,” Bo said, a little brokenly. “ _Please_ , Satine— don’t you have any dignity? You don’t want to go like that— covered in your own shit and piss, _trust_ me.” 

The honest note in her words made Satine hesitate. Bo looked . . . well, miserable. She resisted the urge to rub it in— what did she mean _dignity?_ Was _dignity_ on anyone’s mind when Satine’s eyes rolled up in her head and she swore she saw stars despite the piercing lights and absence of space?

“Bo, I have dignity,” Satine said, proud her voice didn’t shake. _You gave it back to me,_ the hurt part of her shouted. “And that is why I choose to die with my morals intact. I will not sign.” She closed her eyes— the crumpled body of her father, presented to her, flashing. It would not be pretty, but Mandalore would live on. 

Bo worried at her lip, eyes glistening. In that moment, Satine realized that the request wasn’t truly for herself. It was the plea of a younger sister who desperately didn’t want to see her oldest surviving sibling beaten to death.

_Oh. I’m sorry, Bo._

She seemed to see the resolution in Satine’s eyes and promptly whipped around, stalking toward the door.

“Bo—” Satine called out. Bo stopped in her tracks. “I’m sorry, but I can’t back down.” She would lay down her life for her government. For the hope of peace.

Satine silently cursed herself. She’d meant what she had said, but that wasn’t all. She wanted to apologize for so much more than just that. _I’m sorry for doubting you, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better sister._

But Bo looked at her and, strangely, it was the acceptance in her eyes that finally made Satine tear up. Her little sister had grown up.

“Yeah.” Bo said shakily, paused a beat. “I know.”

Satine waited until the door slid shut to let out the choked sob.

Somehow, Obi-Wan’s time allotted to meditation had also turned into calling Anakin. The boy was groggily rubbing his eyes when he answered the comlink and Obi-Wan guiltily realized it must have been quite early on Coruscant.

“Anakin . . .” he began, then trailed off. Force, what was he _doing_ , confiding in an eleven-year-old? 

“What happened?” Anakin asked. There was no judgment in his eyes. Well, _blast it._

“I . . . there’s a woman that I like.” Obi-Wan cringed at his own words. Well, he was certainly doing great sounding like a babbling, love-struck teenager. Maybe Satine was right.

“Like Padmé and me,” Anakin nodded seriously. 

Obi-Wan blinked— the Queen? He hadn’t thought about the Nubian monarch . . . had _tried_ not to think about her for a long time. He guiltily realized he’d never truly conversed with Anakin about that experience. It must’ve been formative, his first days after being freed being thrown into a planet-wide conflict, he distantly mused.

“I . . . suppose,” Obi-Wan forced out. He breathed out heavily. “But this woman . . . I let her go into this dangerous situation and now she’s been captured and, sure, I knew it was a likely possibility but I know that it’s _my_ fault—” His hands started shaking and he rubbed his face anxiously.

“I should not have this attachment,” he said softly, looking down. Regardless of if it was love or just a sad imitation— at some point, he’d stopped caring. What mattered was that it was consuming him in an unhealthy manner that was sacrilege to the Code. 

He reached up, about to turn off his comlink. This was a mistake— he would explain to Anakin later, maybe years later when he wouldn’t remember Obi-Wan being such a weak, sentimental idiot.

Anakin interrupted his thoughts. “Obi-Wan, Master Windu told me that attachment is not the Jedi way, but sometimes it’s inevitable.” Anakin shrugged with a thoughtful expression on his face, a bit of sadness bleeding in.

Obi-Wan blinked, not quite believing that this was the same boy that had jumped about shouting that he was going to become a Jedi. He was painfully aware of the way Anakin’s childish face, already leaner than most children from a life of tough labor, had begun to change with adolescence. Perhaps someday Anakin’s face would match the years worn in his eyes.

“The important thing is that we find the balance. Sometimes the best way to show someone you care about them is to let them go.”

“How did you get so wise, Ani?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin shrugged again. “Master Windu. And therapy.”

That didn’t sound like Master Windu much at all. Perhaps Anakin had even changed the stringent Jedi Master. Obi-Wan could believe it.

“Huh,” he chuckled wetly. “Perhaps I ought to give it a go.” And, hell, he was already getting advice from an eleven-year-old. “What do you think I should do now, then?”

Anakin peered at him. “What do you think you should do?”

Obi-Wan looked down, wringing his hands. “I want to go right over— because I’m fairly certain they’re holding her on the planet’s moon— and fight them all.” He gave a strangled laugh. He didn’t think he’d ever said something so spontaneous or un-Jedi-like before. He sounded insane.

“Revenge doesn’t do anything for you.” Anakin broke through his thoughts, a faraway look in his eyes. “It just leaves you feeling empty. If you really want to help this person you care about, you should do what you think they need— not what you want to do.”

Obi-Wan felt something uncomfortable burn in his eyes. For a second, Anakin sounded scarily like he was talking from experience.

“Anakin, did I . . .” _Did I fail you?_ “Have I done well by you?”

The morose expression on Anakin’s face broke.

“Of course, Obi-Wan. You taught me how to meditate. And you listen to me complain about Master Windu,” he smiled genuinely. Amusement flooded through their Force bond— Obi-Wan could feel him _laughing_ at Obi-Wan’s doubt. It wasn’t malicious, just earnest, confused humor.

Obi-Wan laughed, feeling lighter. This was why he hated talking to politicians. One never got a genuine answer out of them. Or perhaps more of the world simply needed to act like eleven-year-olds. Who would’ve thought?

“Right. Thank you, Anakin.” Obi-Wan marveled at the idea that he had ever been bitter toward the boy.

“Of course, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan nodded and with a fond farewell, closed the channel. He was left in the quiet of his room. 

There had been a time when he saw no way forward outside of becoming Anakin’s Master, following through with Qui-Gon’s request. But . . . there were more ways to care for the boy than as his Master. If Obi-Wan thought back to himself of those months ago, hell, even the him of now . . . he had to admit that Master Windu had been a wise choice. Or, at the very least, Obi-Wan had definitely been the wrong one.

He hadn’t been ready to look after another person then. But now he had to be strong enough, for someone else.

He left his room, pressing a different channel on his comlink. “Officer Ude’tuun, could you meet me at the hanger?”

“I’ll be there, _Jetti_ ,” came Ude’tuun’s clipped reply. 

Obi-Wan promptly sprinted across the palace, reaching out with the Force. Master Qui-Gon had told him so, _Anakin_ had told him so. Surely his feelings could not be false? Hope ignited a fragile flame in his chest, warming him— Satine was alive. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t give a name to the flame— it didn’t change that there was a _fire_ that burned in him that hadn’t been there before. And the fire demanded he follow Satine.

He was sure he could find her. He just needed to be given the chance.

He was so tired of being cold.

“Officer, I _must_ go after Satine,” Obi-Wan said breathlessly as he approached the Mandalorian officer. But Ude’tuun’s eye were critical. He very obviously placed himself in Obi-Wan’s path toward the nearest shuttle.

“Perhaps if you were getting distracted, it would please you to know that the first bombing has happened.” he held up a hologram of a ruined area. “It was in the public housing sector this time. Twelve people were injured, two killed in the blast, not including the bomb’s carrier.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth shut and he froze in his steps, embarrassment and horror rising. But still, the tiny flame of hope flickered with determination. 

“Do you know what made the Duchess different from all the rulers we have had before?” Ude’tuun coldly spoke a harsh language— Mando’a, Obi-Wan distantly recognized. “Do you know what that means, _Jetti_ ? ‘ _One may die but Mandalore is forever_.’ Out of all of our leaders, the Duchess knew and practiced that. That’s why she did not embroil us in meaningless conflicts or petty clan warfare. That is why she worked to improve all facets of life because she believed poverty and food shortages were more important than blasters and sabers.” 

His expression twisted. “ _One may die but Mandalore is forever_ — every Mandalorian knows this and if you truly respect the Duchess, you will let her do what she chooses to do.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, the thoughts racing in his head. “That’s it.”

Satine had restarted the agricultural program on Concordia, which was being governed by Vizsla. He distantly recalled them discussing the matter when they had first arrived.

“What?” Ude’tuun scowled at him. “I hope understand that I cannot let you—” 

“You said— in the _reports_ — the nano-droids had been in the stomach lining, right? They’d been _ingested_.” Obi-Wan paced around the room, rubbing his beard as he thought. “Well, if we’re certain that Concordia is involved in this— which I am— what’s the one food product that’s been imported from the moon in the past few months?”

Ude’tuun stiffened as he followed Obi-Wan’s train of thought. “You cannot mean . . . the agricultural growth program— the _lettuce_.”

“Where was it being sent?”

“The produce from Concordia was being given to the public canteen to supplement their food.”

For the first time, Obi-Wan cursed Satine and her dedication to serving the general public. “Which would explain why the two bombers had no relation to each other besides being Mandalorian citizens.” 

Obi-Wan dodged past Ude’tuun and leaped onto a small shuttle, opening the hatch with a wave of his hand.

“Where are we going?” Ude’tuun ran after him, more anticipation than irritation now.

“ _You_ are going to the canteen and scanning those crates for nano-droids.” Obi-Wan said, jumping into the cockpit. He forced down the wave of uncertainty that threatened to crumble his resolve. He clung to the hope beating furiously with his heart. “And, I’m sorry— I can’t follow your Mandalorian customs on this one, officer. I’m going to Concordia.”

If Obi-Wan wasn’t so focused on the controls, he might’ve seen Ude’tuun’s expression fractionally soften before setting again.

Instead, he was pleasantly surprised by the sound of resignation that came from below the shuttle. “Very well. I’ll keep in touch,” Ude’tuun called. “And, Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan paused in bringing the cockpit hatch down.

“If you mess this up, there _will_ be a Mandalorian firing squad waiting for you and Vizsla,” Ude’tuun gave a pleasant smile.

Obi-Wan gave a fuller smile. “I’d be more worried about your side, officer.” The shuttle hummed to life underneath his fingers.

* * *

Obi-Wan’s comlink beeped.

“It’s as we suspected, the produce from Concordia were swarming with nano-droids,” Ude’tuun said, disgusted. “We’ve shut down the canteen momentarily and have asked all the patrons to step to a designated area. We’re figuring out a way to scan for the nano-droids through tissue to see who’s a target.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan steered his shuttle past some debris. “Can you figure out a radio-jamming frequency? The droids must work on some command-system since the timing and place of the attacks have been deliberate so far.”

“I’ll do you one better and try to figure out a way to disarm them. I’ll have someone check the records— this isn’t our first run with bomb-enthused terrorists.”

“Do you have any idea of how to look for the nano-droids on a planet-wide level, though? We don’t know the spread of the hosts from shipments before today. I don’t imagine Pre Vizsla will be pleased to see me,” Obi-Wan said dryly.

“Well, if the signal is to get from Concordia to Mandalore, it’ll require a massive power source— perhaps their main generator, even,” Ude’tuun said thoughtfully. There was a crackle and Obi-Wan faintly heard him shout at someone else. “Sorry, I need to leave soon. My men have separated those who have digested nano-droids from the others.”

“The generators? I’ll get them,” Obi-Wan took a steadying breath. “And officer?”

The small shape of Concordia floated in the distance before him.

“May the Force be with us.”

* * *

Satine had been trying to catch a quick nap before the next rude awakening when the room was thrown into darkness. Her head snapped up but the glowing stasis field around her remained intact. But there was a strange silence— the machines around her were quiet. Her breaths suddenly seemed loud in her ears without the muffled sound of ventilation. 

Satine tried shaking her arms but nothing— the stasis must have been powered by some separate generator. All she got was a faint flicker, but nothing else changed.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself. Fuck, she needed sleep, she needed food. _Fuck—_ she was _angry_. Satine needed who-knew-how-many arrest warrants and a well-armed battalion to take down this damn terrorist group. Fuck. She repeated it to herself, louder. “ _Fuck!_ Fuck fuck fuck fuck—” 

Huh, this was rather therapeutic—

The door clunkily rolled open. “ _Stars_ , Satine— are you trying to alert the entire complex?” A bright light— the light attached to Bo’s blaster scope— shined into Satine’s eyes, shutting her up.

“What the— Bo?” Satine blinked groggily, trying to adjust her eyes.

“Someone’s here— the power’s been cut,” Bo said with surprising calm in her voice, slinging her blaster to her shoulder and rushing to the panel in front of Satine.

“What are you doing?” Satine tried peering down at Bo, who was muttering to herself.

“Damnit— did the power get cut from the control panel? Ah, no— here it is—” 

The stasis field abruptly shut off, dumping Satine unceremoniously on hard paneling. Her body screamed in pain and she let out a grunt. But the pain was partially blocked by the rush of euphoria that hit her— Bo was _here_. Bo came back for her. 

“Shit, sorry.” Bo didn’t sound entirely remorseful.

“Asshole,” Satine hissed without venom. Damn, her arms were too weak to lift herself up.

“Shit,” Bo repeated more concern in her voice. Satine felt her kneel beside her. “Can you stand?”

Satine tried her legs and her abdominal muscles immediately contracted. Her whole body shook miserably. “Not exactly,” she huffed.

Bo leaned over her and pulled her up. Satine did her best to help, holding onto her sister’s neck. It was jarring to feel how much she’d grown— she was almost as tall as Satine. The bitter feeling of time lost hit her and she resisted the urge to make a sappy comment. Or perhaps that was just the headrush.

“Come on Satine, I’m breaking you out— could it kill you to help a little?” Bo muttered in her ear as they exited the room. That made something warm in Satine’s chest. “It’s been hours— you really shouldn’t have that much of the drugs in your system at this point.” 

“I thought,” Satine slurred slightly, “you wanted me to die.”

She couldn’t clearly see Bo’s expression, but she felt her stiffen. They shuffled down the corridor in silence for a while, Bo pressing her back to the wall and peeking around corners.

She finally spoke. “I didn’t want you to die. But I also didn’t want you to die in humiliation. Choosing between the two, the former seemed the easiest.”

“Well, now we’re going to get out of here,” Satine smiled weakly, lead filling her bones. If only she didn’t feel so _heavy_.

Bo came back for her, Satine’s mind helpfully repeated. 

“Yes,” Bo said, trepidation heavy in her voice. “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay sisters!!  
> ... y'all i'm trying so hard not to make vizsla a boring villain who just espouses ""evil villain lines"" but exposition?? don't know her.  
> also,, obi-wan... you think i'm joking about that line but y'all really do need therapy.  
> hope you liked this chapter!


	16. XIV: THE WAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a duel and we rescue each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter! Work's been a lot lately and haven't found the time to edit! Thank you for all the support on this <3

Obi-Wan stood, breathing heavily in front of the smoking remains of the generator. He’d slashed the back-up generators as well, leaving the room in pitch darkness but for the blue glow of his lightsaber. That would hopefully solve the issue for Ude’tuun and the other bombings. The Force had practically sung around him as he’d swung his saber around, leaving melted metal in his wake.

It was time to see what bullshit the Death Watch had been hiding on Concordia.

He’d landed his shuttle in the moon’s hanger and had taken a shortcut to the generators. Or rather, had made his own shortcut. But that was hardly the point. Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, reaching for Satine.

Her mind brushed against his— unconsciously reacting to his touch.

 _Satine_.

Obi-Wan could feel the blood pounding in his ears as he forced the generator room’s door open— to be faced with a ring of Death Watch members all aiming blasters at him. 

If it weren’t for the small windows paneling the ceiling, the hallway would be in pitch darkness. In the dim lighting, Obi-Wan could see the familiar, cragged crown shape painted onto the helm of the member before him.

“So,” Obi-Wan said, somehow sounding far more in-control than he felt. “You’re the leader of Death Watch?” He slowly lowered his lightsaber, keeping it ignited. “There’s someone I’m looking for.”

“Oh, Kenobi,” a disappointed voice crackled through the helmet. “You should know that if you came here again, I would kill you.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head, coolly judgmental. “And who are you?”

“The man who’s going to kill you.” The man reached up and the helmet hissed as the lock released. 

The cool eyes of Governor Vizsla bored into Obi-Wan. He unclipped something from his back— a handle, Obi-Wan realized, of a lightsaber. But it was no sort of lightsaber he had ever seen before.

The blade crackled to life with the smell of ozone and seemed to be a living, hissing void.

Obi-Wan feigned nonchalance, shrugging. “Well then.” He glanced at the Death Watch members— there was no way he was going to be able to beat them without getting hit in some form. With more confidence than he felt, he deactivated his lightsaber, clipping it slowly before any trigger-happy soldier shot him. “A duel.”

Force, he hoped this worked.

Vizsla cocked his head. “Oh?” The dark lightsaber pointed closer to his neck.

“That’s one of your traditions you’re so fond of, yes?” Obi-Wan fumbled, desperately trying to buy himself time. Every moment they were occupied was another for Ude’tuun as well. 

Obi-Wan could feel the heat of the blade painfully close to his collar. It felt as if the heat was warping the air near it— like the lightsaber was forming a gravity well.

Obi-Wan vaguely recalled reading about Mandalorian dueling traditions. They were honorable fights, often for leadership. He had no desire to play at leader for this terrorist group, but with any luck, he would be able to fight Vizsla without interference from the others. 

After that, it would hopefully be easy enough convincing the other members to lay down their weapons. Assuming they didn’t break their clearly very strict moral code to stop Obi-Wan if it seemed their leader was losing. Assuming Obi-Wan could take Vizsla in a fight. 

Not many people could handle a lightsaber, or a weapon near to it, usually needing Force-sensitive abilities to wield the blade with accuracy. Thankfully, Vizsla was clearly not attuned to the Force, but the way he gripped the saber’s hilt suggested he knew how to use it.

Vizsla lowered his saber. “A trial of strength? I accept this offer for me to execute you.” He gestured to his soldiers. “But this is no place for a duel, Kenobi.” 

The dark lightsaber came up again in a gesture that clearly said _move_. Obi-Wan felt out hesitantly and sensed the man’s twisted, but genuine intentions. At least he was getting his duel.

The Death Watch soldiers roughly pushed him outside, to a cemented clearing. They spread out, surrounding the two of them smoothly, practiced. Obi-Wan wondered if there were often challenges to Vizsla. The promptness that the soldiers responded to his orders suggested that any challenges likely ended the same way.

Vizsla prowled away from him, dark lightsaber in hand. They had left Obi-Wan’s lightsaber untouched, so he assumed it was acceptable to unclip it now.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I’m not entirely read up on dueling traditions. Could you refresh the rules for me?” Obi-Wan called.

Vizsla stared at him unblinkingly and Obi-Wan nearly thought the man would just charge him right then and there. 

“The duel begins when the chip drops. Anything goes. Nothing is accepted but absolute victory. That is the way,” Vizsla said loudly. Unbidden, the circle of Death Watch members repeated the mantra back in unison.

“ _T_ _his is the way._ ”

For a moment, Obi-Wan could see how this man commanded a room, and had drawn traitors to him. He was as magnetic as his blade.

“You will die, and then the Duchess will as well,” Vizsla announced. He pulled a gambling chip from his pocket. “And now we begin.” He flicked it upward and they all watched it seem to turn endlessly. The wind whistled around them.

Vizsla was a man used to winning. Scheming and getting away with it. But Obi-Wan would be damned if he lost.

He activated his lightsaber. It hummed comfortingly. All he had to do was disarm Vizsla and then rescue Satine. Thinking of it that way almost made it easy, he thought dryly. He breathed calmly— the Force was with him, he was sure of it.

_I will be watching over you, Obi-Wan._

The chip hit the ground.

* * *

Satine could hear her own heartbeat in her ears— or perhaps that was the pulse behind her eyes, stars, she had _such_ a headache. She tried her best to lift her feet as Bo practically dragged her along.

It felt like hours had passed, them silently trudging along through the hallways. At one point they’d gotten in a lift. Bo had whispered a prayer in the darkness that the elevator’s stored power hadn’t been used and, to their relief, the machine had slowly begun to ascend. Satine hadn’t been sure if it was Bo’s nervous energy or the shaking of the transport that she felt.

Thankfully, they had yet to run into any other Death Watch members. Satine supposed they had thought their lieutenant would be enough to guard their weakened prisoner.

“Come on, Satine, it’s only a bit further from the hanger and I can steal us a transport,” Bo said, voice a bit raw. It had been a long night. _Was_ it night? Satine realized with a jolt she wasn’t even sure how much time had passed.

“Bo, what time is it?” she whispered.

“It’s been a day. It’s around 2000.” Bo said, just as softly, perhaps guiltily.

It sunk in. A day. _A day._ Satine shuddered, trying desperately not to think about everything that had happened to her. She was overcome with the urge to cry again.

“I didn’t sign. I didn’t fucking sign their fucking documents,” she chuckled wetly, hiccuping and clinging to Bo’s neck. “It’s over.”

In the glow of Bo’s flashlight, she could see the grim smile on Bo’s face. “Not yet.” They moved forward in the dark.

* * *

Sparks flew when their lightsabers clashed.

Obi-Wan grunted, slightly surprised at the impact. Vizsla was no seven-foot horned monster, but he was still formidable. Obi-Wan twisted away, putting distance between them. Vizsla immediately chased after him, slashing downward.

Obi-Wan scowled, breathing hard. This was not the greatest set up to go into Soresu. Instead, he found himself falling back into the familiar motions of Ataru. His blade swung up, parrying a particularly vicious lunge toward his head.

The clearing fell silent but for their quick footwork through the clearing. Obi-Wan tried to control his breathing, sweat dripping down his neck. Wherever Vizsla had gotten the sword, he’d certainly practiced with it. Vizsla compensated for technique with sheer strength that gave Obi-Wan flashbacks to sparring with Master Qui-Gon. 

The knockback from the blades meeting shook his arms. The Death Watch members backed away, silent but ever-present spectators to their duel.

Obi-Wan aimed for Vizsla’s sword hand in a disarming blow when the older man twisted, shooting a small knife from his other hand’s glove. Obi-Wan hissed, feeling the blade graze through his robes onto his side.

His distraction cost him precious few seconds and Vizsla took the moment to ruthlessly smash his booted heel into Obi-Wan’s right kneecap. There was the crunch of bone and pain exploded up his leg. 

Obi-Wan exhaled sharply. _Shit._ His crumpled and he barely had time to deflect the blow from Vizsla’s saber. 

A triumphant light entered Vizsla’s eye when he caught Obi-Wan off-guard, kicking him in the chest. His lightsaber rolled from his grasp, deactivating as the wind left him. Obi-Wan grimaced at the few cheers he heard in the crowd. Truly, what had these bastards done to deserve Satine?

“It truly is a shame that you intervened,” Vizsla announced, breathing harder himself. He planted his foot on Obi-Wan, holding him in place. “You really pushed our plans ahead of schedule.”

“Oh, really? I’m terribly sorry,” Obi-Wan grunted out, gravel biting into his cheek.

“No, no, it’s truly fine. We have friends that will truly be pleased to have the Duchess out of the way. You as well.” Vizsla hummed.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly. The Force brushed against his mind — _the dark lightsaber would swing down, lopping off his head in one smooth stroke. Vizsla would raise it, the smell of blood and charred flesh filling the air, then he would leave, off to find Satine where the same would happen—_

His body jolted and he shook himself out of the vision, horror filling him.

 _No._ Not Satine. He’d promised.

Obi-Wan’s body screamed in protest as he rolled to the side, dislodging Vizsla’s boot. He reached out with the Force, feeling Vizsla’s viscous presence in the Force. He remembered the anger he had felt in the holding cell and called upon it. An incomprehensible yell ripped from his throat as he felt Vizsla’s essence and _pulled_.

The man grunted as he was yanked backward. Obi-Wan grabbed his lightsaber, turning it on just in time to meet with Vizsla’s charge.

He cursed under his breath. His leg rendered him fairly immobile, but he could stand if he focused. But he was as good as a sitting duck unless he could figure something out. There was darkness on the edge of his vision.

Their blades locked and Obi-Wan widened his stance in an attempt to strengthen his position. His arms trembled under the weight of the dark lightsaber. Neither side could gain an advantage, the crisscross of blue and dark casting fiery shadows on their faces.

Obi-Wan became aware of a different sensation, one that was darker. It clung to him, making his arms feel heavier. _You could have power,_ it hummed. He shook his head, sweat running into his eyes.

 _No._ He would not succumb.

“You know,” Vizsla said, a slight strain the only indication that he was struggling as much as Obi-Wan. “You’re a lot more vocal than the Duchess.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Obi-Wan hissed, concentrating on not letting his knee buckle. His arms screamed at the effort of parrying.

“Oh, sorry, that was sarcastic. She screamed a lot more until she stopped being able to string together words,” Vizsla said, nonchalantly.

Red filled Obi-Wan’s vision. 

The Force rang with the truth of his statement. It _wept_ at his admission, showing Obi-Wan the images of Satine— _Satine, crumpled on the group. Satine, a needle stabbing into her. Satine, spitting, froth at her mouth, pain twisting her figure—_

In that moment, he faltered, which had perhaps been Vizsla’s intention all along. Unfortunately for Vizsla, Obi-Wan’s other hand released his lightsaber, instead reaching out in a clawed motion. There was no need for meditation to know that it was hate that thrummed through him at that moment. _You could have power._

In his mind’s eye, he could see Satine screaming soundlessly. He could feel her agony.

Obi-Wan reached.

He could _feel_ Vizsla’s disgusting, slimy life in his hands and Obi-Wan stared at him as he _squeezed._ _There was no death, there was the Force._

There was a deadly certainty to his action. 

Vizsla made a sputtering sound, stumbling back and dropping the dark lightsaber.

_Good._

* * *

“Bo. _Bo,_ ” Satine tugged insistently at Bo’s shoulder plate. She’d put her helmet back on in case they ran into other Death Watch members and it was still jarring to see the helmeted face turn around to face her. “We need to go right.”

Bo shifted her grip on Satine. “No— straight is toward the hanger. We need to get out of here,” she reminded her insistently.

“We _need_ to go right. I have a gut feeling,” Satine said. They stared at each other, Satine determinedly staring into the visor, her own reflection looking back. She resisted the urge to wince at how worn down she looked. There were more pressing issues.

Such as the pulling sensation in her chest that was screaming at her to _go right._

Bo finally sighed. “Fine. But if we run into anyone, I get to drop you to shoot.”

“Deal.”

They continued their three-legged shuffle down the new passageway when Satine stiffened. “Here.” She reached out her hand to feel the smooth panels on the wall, searching in the dark. She could practically feel Bo’s eye roll as she took her flashlight away from scouting ahead to the wall. “There’s a maintenance door.”

“I can _see_ that,” Bo grumbled. They made their way over, Bo jamming her shoulder against the door to open it. Pale moonlight flooded in, along with the sound of something. _Steps?_

Bo tensed. “ _Stay here_.” She gently placed Satine down, readying her blaster. She stepped into the night.

No. _No no no no_ — Satine had a terrible feeling about this.

“No,” she rasped, back sore against the wall. She turned on her side, not caring who saw her. She pushed herself into kneeling position, fingers scrabbling on the wall to find purchase. Pain and exhaustion screamed at her to stop but, well, Satine had never been good at taking hints. “No— _Bo_ —” 

One step. Then the next.

Stepping outside was like changing altitudes. Satine’s ears popped as she moved, body shaking with the effort. She looked up to see Bo, a few paces before her, blaster aimed at a crowd of Death Watch members who had all turned to the two of them.

Not all of them. Some of them were preoccupied with something else.

Satine shuffled forward, praying they wouldn’t shoot her. She looked more like a walking hospital patient than a threat, unarmed and shivering in the cold.

But there was still that horribly, sickly feeling in her chest— she had to see, she had to know— 

Then she saw.

“ _Obi-Wan— don’t!_ ” The scream tore from her throat, instinctively. Satine’s vision was going blurry but she could see Obi-Wan, standing before a kneeling figure, his lightsaber to the other man’s — Pre Vizsla’s — thoat.

Obi-Wan turned slightly, surprise and pain flooding his expression. His lips moved inaudibly but it looked like _Satine_. He looked over her with anguish in his eyes.

Satine felt the ache in her chest again. “Don’t kill him!” she staggered forward. Bo seemed to find herself again and, blaster still threateningly raised, move to help Satine stand.

Because more than the pain and all the other mix of emotions that flurried across Obi-Wan’s face, he looked _lost._

And Satine had just learned, more than anything, people didn’t make good choices out of feeling lost. 

Vizsla turned his head with effort, body shaking against some invisible restraint. “Duchess,” he bowed his head disdainfully. “So I see all the Kryze women are bitches.” 

Satine didn’t afford him a look, maintaining eye contact with Obi-Wan. His eyes were so blue, she realized faintly. “Don’t kill him,” she pleaded. “He will be given a fair trial and sentence.”

Obi-Wan forced his eyes away, hand shaking slightly. “He deserves it.” He said softly. “It’s _these_ kinds of people that deserve it Satine. Not your father, not my Master. Not _you_.”

“And if you kill him now, you will be acquitting him of his crimes and committing one yourself,” Satine said, head ringing from the shouting.

The ache was a bonfire in her chest, setting her skin with fever. The exhaustion seeped into her bones and she just wanted this all to be _over_. She wasn’t completely sure how she felt about Obi-Wan, but, whatever it was, _not like this_. This was something else, something dark she wanted no part in. Satine supposed she had been stupid to think that Obi-Wan would have shared the sentiments enough to let go of . . . whatever petty revenge this was.

Black dots speckled in front of her vision and Satine felt her head drooping. 

Bo stiffened beside her. “Hey, Satine. _Satine_.”

But Satine was too fatigued to fight the darkness creeping on her mind any longer.

* * *

Suddenly, the blade felt heavy in Obi-Wan’s hand. He tore his eyes away from Satine’s prone form, being softly placed on the ground by the Death Watch member. Her sister, he supposed. From the way the woman had stormed out, it seemed indomitable determination was a trait shared by all of Clan Kryze. 

It’d taken all of his willpower not to run over and check over Satine. Her body looked scarily broken, lying there on the ground. Without her voluminous locks, she looked smaller in a way that sent a pang in his chest. That and his knee was starting to stiffen in a bad way.

Force, this was all his fault.

Finally, he looked to the other Death Watch members, who had backed down when Obi-Wan threateningly lifted his lightsaber to Vizsla’s neck. He considered them.

“Do you all acknowledge that Pre Vizsla’s authority has henceforth been ended?” He called out to them. He got a cautious round of nods.

Something dark came over Vizsla’s expression. “I’m not fucking dead yet, Kenobi. Mandalorian law still holds— _I_ am still leader of the Death Watch.”

Suddenly, feeling the anger and betrayal swirling so mercurially underneath Vizsla’s surface gave clarity to Obi-Wan and the anger bled away. Huh. Anakin was right. In a way, Vizsla was pitiable. To have thought that he could tear down a government based upon all that was right and just in democracy and society.

But to wreak vengeance as he wanted was not the Jedi way. The Jedi found balance. Obi-Wan felt cold at what he had almost done, had almost used the Force to do.

And in Satine’s mind, there had not been anger at Vizsla, but fear. Fear _for_ Obi-Wan. The suffocating feeling of fear and warm love, all mixing to make a nauseating combination that screamed at him that it wasn’t right. What person would he be to do that, knowing what it would do? 

Satine was right.

He raised his head and looked at the ring of shuffling Death Watch members. None of them looked willing to step forward for Vizsla. “As a sign of your new allegiance, would any of you have binders?” He called out.

“I do,” a voice said from behind him. Obi-Wan recognized the voice.

“Bo?” he asked uncertainly.

“It’s Bo-Katan for you,” the woman spoke crisply, snapping the restraints onto Vizsla. “And you don’t get to call me anything,” she hissed viciously to him..

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Vizsla sneered back. “These idiots might be traitors, but all it takes is one to activate the explosives we rigged.”

Obi-Wan blanched. Force, he’d nearly forgotten about that. Right, the whole thing he’d been preoccupied with before storming over to Concordia— _Force_ , he really hadn’t thought this quite through. He hoped Ude’tuun’s plan had gone through.

Trusting himself to be able to react should Vizsla try anything now handcuffed, he activated his comlink. The signal went through, the jammers having gone down in the blackout.

“Officer Ude’tuun, do you copy?” He spoke.

It took a few tense seconds for the crackling response to come in. “Yes.”

“Do you have any updates?”

There was a pause. “Yes.” Obi-Wan waited with bated breath. This could end terribly.

“Yes, we’ve finished creating the planet-wide signal scrambler. Transmitting now.” Relief rushed through Obi-Wan. He could practically _feel_ the irritation in Ude’tuun’s voice and he couldn’t be more enthused to hear it.

Obi-Wan felt a broad grin stretch across his face. “Excellent work, officer.” He closed the channel and stared smugly as rage spread across Vizsla’s face, turning it red.

Bo-Katan turned to the rest of the members of Death Watch. “Well? We’re done here unless more of you want arrests.” They scattered. She turned her attention to Obi-Wan, finally taking off her helmet. Piercing green eyes glared at him. “Right, we need to get Satine to a hospital.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan leaped to attention, guiltily remembering Satine— _Satine, Satine who loved him_ — then immediately wincing at his knee. Shit.

Bo-Katan looked down. “And you to one as well, it seems.”

Satine regained consciousness on something soft. At least, softer than the ground. Someone shifted beside her and she realized it was Bo. Her helmet was off and she looked tired, grit and dried sweat on her brow.

“Hey, you’re awake. Good.” Bo worried at her lip. “It’s over, Satine.”

Satine let out a sigh. Good. There was still the look of worry on Bo’s face.

“What’s wrong?” She reached for Bo’s hand. Surprisingly, she let Satine squeeze it encouragingly. Trepidation hung in the air between them. Bo’s hand trembled slightly in her’s.

“I’m going to stay,” Bo finally broke the silence, nervously meeting Satine’s eyes. Satine blinked— that wasn’t what she’d been expecting.

“What?” Satine automatically tried shifting upward but found she couldn’t. She gave up with a frustrated huff. “But you promised,” she said, a bit petulantly.

Bo looked at her, a strange mix of regret and something else in her eyes. She looked down at their intertwined hands and gently disconnected them.

“That was before I knew you already had someone looking after you,” Bo said, gently. “I’ll be fine. The Death Watch needs someone to lead them through this next stage anyway. I’m your best shot at preventing a political vacuum with Vizsla locked up.”

Satine hated to admit that she was right. Relief flooded through her. _Locked up._ So Obi-Wan hadn’t . . . . There was a lump in her throat that kept her from speaking. Why did she feel like crying? This should have been excellent news. She knew Bo was capable and . . . Obi-Wan hadn’t let her down. _But could she say the same for herself?_

“I’ll be fine,” Bo repeated, perhaps a little to herself. Her expression was the softest Satine had ever seen it. Vulnerable. “And I know you will be as well.”

“Don’t do anything reckless or dangerous,” Satine demanded thickly.

For a moment, she was scared she had overstepped by the way Bo’s eyes went glassy. But then she swore she saw a smile twitch at Bo’s mouth. 

“Of course, _my_ Duchess,” Bo teased. 

Satine chuckled painfully. “ _Please_. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to hear my official title without thinking of . . .” she trailed off, shivering slightly.

Bo sobered. “Satine . . . I was wrong. I’m sorry. Watching what they did to you. I’m sorry. You are a true Mandalorian who deserves to lead our people.” Her voice caught. “You are our _Mand’alor_.”

Satine gave a weak smile, her eyes well and truly burning. To hear those words from Bo. She wasn’t sure how she felt. Grateful, to be out of there. Relieved. And in need of a week-long coma, definitely. But there was still that shiver in her— she felt brittle like in one spasm she could snap. Like all the adrenaline hadn’t fully been eked out.

Frankly, Bo’s apology hadn’t done much to assuage that. It wasn’t out of any sort of blame, but rather. Well, it wasn’t like Bo had much to apologize _for_. Satine had been the one who had pushed her away first. But that didn’t mean Satine couldn’t see how nervous Bo was, respect and guilt twisting in her eyes.

So she turned to Bo and gave her her most genuine smile. “Thank you, Bo. You don’t know how much that means,” Satine said. And she meant it.

Now if only she could get over the feeling that she didn’t deserve this.

* * *

The next visitor came an indiscernible amount of time later. Satine must have fallen asleep but they were still in the shuttle she could see. There was a hesitant shadow in the doorway.

Satine blinked, rubbing at her eyes. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” Obi-Wan stepped forward hesitantly. “We just got back to Mandalore. We’re preparing to get you to the hospital.”

Satine jolted in the stretcher. Her head felt clearer after some rest and the events of the past few days struck her. Dread filled her. Hell, when she’d been being tortured, she had assumed that none of the explosives had gone off— she couldn’t imagine Vizsla would miss the chance to gloat about them to her. But that didn’t change _after_ he was arrested, after his plans had failed. 

“The bombs,” she gasped, feeling the beginning of hyperventilating. Oh, stars—

“It’s fine! Ude’tuun and I disabled them,” Obi-Wan said quickly. He rushed forward in concern, nervously moving back.

The chart Vizsla had shown her flashed behind her eyes. Of the numbers she couldn’t help but turn into rows of bodies in her mind.

Satine didn’t quite believe it. “Really?” She asked faintly. Were all those people saved? 

Stars, she’d been so close to signing. So close to sacrificing so many people. 

“Yes. Really.” Obi-Wan said gently. Satine felt like she could breathe again and she had the urge to cry in relief.

_She hadn’t failed._

Satine looked away, suddenly unable to meet the intensity in his eyes. Bo, Obi-Wan . . . there were so many people in her life that she hadn’t truly appreciated. Their last conversation still echoed in her mind— the look of _hurt_ on Obi-Wan’s face. She hadn’t been able to face it or she feared her resolve would’ve crumbled right then.

But she’d had a lot of time to think about it in the silence of the cell.

Satine spoke, voice trembling slightly. “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. It was insensitive what I said about the Order. Of course I respect them as an institution and they’ve cared for you all your life. And I’m so truly sorry about what I said about you.” Of course Obi-Wan could love.

It had been Satine who had fallen, in the end. Alone and loveless, ready to sell out because she had been broken. 

And the way Satine had treated Obi-Wan after saying she still had feelings for him— no wonder other sentients judged humans’ hypocrisy.

Disbelief flooded Obi-Wan’s eyes. _Ah_. Satine didn’t blame him if he didn’t believe her. 

When he finally found words, she expected the vitriol in his voice. But, somehow, it wasn’t aimed at her.

Obi-Wan gave a laugh that sounded like he was choking. “Of course I forgive you. Satine— honestly, at this point? Fuck the Order.” It was Satine’s turn to stare with disbelief.

He continued, “I’m . . . I’m the one who should be— I’m _so_ sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have tried to make it seem like . . . I was forcing my affections or choices on you. And what you had to see there . . .” His face broke a little and Satine felt like she could tiny bits of him melting out of the cracks. It made something painful twist in her chest, worse than when she had seen Obi-Wan so filled with that blinded rage. 

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t okay, as a Jedi or even a person—” 

“Obi-Wan,” Satine said, insistent. He fell silent. “I forgive you. You saved me,” she smiled wetly. Stars, when had she started crying? “I forgive you, and . . . and I still like you. Very much.” The words tumbled out of her and, she realized with exhilaration, they were true.

It wasn’t like impassioned debate, where she’d go off-script, the arguments coming out of her to convince the other side to hers. A good debater knew how to bend the truth to her thesis. This was different. Certainly, she wanted to wipe that miserable look of self-loathing off of Obi-Wan’s face, but the words were honest. They were true.

She looked at him nervously. Perhaps she’d misjudged. _Again_. After all, with everything that had been said, she wouldn’t blame him for attributing any affection he’d held onto as a teenage infatuation.

Satine hadn’t expected Obi-Wan to promptly lean down beside her, body shaking with tears. It was like Obi-Wan was breaking down with every exhale and reforming on the next. The calm exterior that he had tried so hard to maintain as a Jedi melted away in tears. It was different than even the raw hurt she’d seen on Concordia. This wasn’t anger. It was a bittersweet well that seemed to come from the center of Obi-Wan’s being. It felt almost embarrassingly private, and yet . . . Satine was struck with the realization that Obi-Wan trusted her.

“I like you as well,” Obi-Wan whispered between his fingers, surprisingly bashful about it compared to his first confession.

In that moment, there were several things Satine was aware of. Her back hurt, her neck hurt, hell, even her teeth hurt. She wanted to sleep and perhaps a strong mug of tea. She wanted to watch Vizsla be publicly put on trial and sent to rot in a jail cell. And she was inexplicably and undeniably filled with an unquantifiable amount of fondness for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

This was the curtain moving back, showing Satine how there were just as many tiny pieces inside Obi-Wan, threatening to collapse like she had in that cell. Gently, she reached forward and pushed them back in place, shoring up the base to the ornate structure that was Obi-Wan.

She had been alone in that cell, until Bo had found her.

She supposed Bo had been right about Satine having someone to look after her. And now Satine had someone to look after as well.

“Obi?”

“Hm?”

“Are you really going to keep the beard?” Satine teased.

Obi-Wan wet eyes crinkled into a smile. There was a sort of understanding in his eyes. “Oh, sod off.” There was no bite to his words though. “Get some rest,” he said. He stood to leave.

“So long as you go off and sleep as well,” Satine called after him. She saw him wave loosely and contented herself to lying back in the bed. There hadn’t been that burning anger in him anymore.

Her Obi-Wan was back.


	17. XV: YOU LIGHT THE ROOMS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from langhorne slim's "house of my soul (you light the room)" :) i hope you enjoy the chapter!

Obi-Wan had hovered as the Mandalorian officers and hospital personnel placed Satine in a secure hospital ward with her own room. He’d hovered a lot. He had the feeling that it was only the lightsaber at his hilt that stopped them from tossing him out as an interloper.

The medical staff had hooked Satine up to an IV and a monitor for her vitals and Obi-Wan silently marveled at the technology. It was nearly on par with the Jedi Temple— another testimony to how Satine had changed Mandalorian society for the better.

Obi-Wan had been permitted to stay in her room and so he spent most of his time there, watching the steady rise and fall of Satine’s chest. He’d only left when practically dragged to the operating room for doctors to look at his kneecap. He’d only distractedly shrugged as unimpressed eyebrows were raised and he half-listened to the instructions to fix his bindings with bacta.

Satine had yet to wake up. Fortunately, the nurses assured Obi-Wan that she was stable despite the bruises, internal burns, and myriad of other things Death Watch had seen fit to part her with. He was doing his best to come to terms with the extent of her injuries and  _ not _ fly into a blind rage in the detention center because he was pretty sure Ude’tuun would have him deported if he accidentally killed Vizsla. Also because it was what Satine would want him to do.

So Obi-Wan waited.

Unfortunately, it also meant that he was subjected to daily, sometimes more than, com messages from the only person more concerned about Satine than Obi-Wan and countless Mandalorian citizens, demanding updates on her sister’s status. 

In some of his more tired moments, Obi-Wan privately cursed Satine for staying unconscious and leaving him to deal with Bo-Katan, who’d suddenly decided to start playing the family card. Well, he couldn’t really blame Bo-Katan’s frantic state. Force, if Satine hadn’t stopped him . . . 

Now with proper amounts of sleep, Obi-Wan shuddered to think of what he had been about to do. It was the same feeling he had felt near the pit on Naboo. He had not Fallen— at least, he didn’t think he had. 

But it hadn’t been a pleasant feeling either— the feeling of power his anger had given him had been heady and addictive.

_ This was the danger of attachment _ .

Obi-Wan clenched his fists. He had meant what he said to Satine.

In all the new free time he had, he’d felt little desire to get in contact with the Jedi Order. Though the thoughts of what had transpired on Concordia certainly didn’t help. But at the same time, the desire to seek the Masters’ advice had left him. An invisible divide had been cut between the Obi-Wan who had held his dying Master and the Obi-Wan who stepped onto Mandalore and there was no reconciling the relation he had once had to the Jedi Order.

And for all that his mission to Mandalore had been supposed to work with dealing with Death Watch, the Mandalorians had, more or less, been managing without Jedi interference for years and were continuing to do without them. Ude’tuun had taken to overworking to locate the rest of the nanodroids and disabling them, also sending a permanent task force to hold operations on Concordia until further developments.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan felt pretty useless. 

So he spent his time thinking. He thought about all the tiny nuances he had once chided Master Qui-Gon on for so pettily disobeying the Code and yet now saw them with new eyes. Giving credits meant to be spent on their mission to the needy had not been straying from their task but simple compassion. 

Because, Obi-Wan realized, he had a lot more in common with Qui-Gon than he had thought. And  _ that _ thought didn’t nearly disturb him as much as it once would have. It was actually . . . kind of nice. It was a reminder that his Master wasn’t gone. Not entirely.

Sometimes, Obi-Wan would even entertain the idea of what was playing in Satine’s mind. Was she dreaming? He could have easily checked with the Force, but since Concordia and everything that had passed between them, he had no desire to further invade her privacy.

Even the slight brush, while frantic with certain emotions, belied the deep-hewn layers of pain. Obi-Wan had a lingering suspicion that the faint echoes he had felt through their bond were nothing to whatever Satine had been subjected to by Death Watch. Watching the way her expression was fully relaxed in sleep unlike in wakefulness, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but worry if her body was trying to heal more than just the internal wounds.

He held the memory of the warmth she’d sent toward him to his heart like a prayer and prayed like hell that she recovered.

And when the thoughts became too much, he talked to Satine.

He jumped around, talking about things that came to mind. Maybe he was really just going insane with suspense, but he liked to think that somewhere in Satine’s subconscious, she could hear him.

“Now you wouldn’t think that it would’ve been possible, but Anakin, that cheeky little kid, can  _ really _ fly. I thought it was just . . . I don’t know, luck in the podrace. But then after the droid army retreated, Anakin came flying down in one of the Nubian ships and it turns out  _ he _ shot down the Trade Federation’s control ship . . . .”

* * *

It was over a week after Knight Kenobi’s last transmission that he contacted the Jedi Council. Mace watched the holoprojection of the young man with interest.

The whole Council could sense it— the fever of confusion and conflict that had been burning up Kenobi had broken. He was tired, but resolute.

“I’m pleased to report that the terrorist threat in Mandalore has been subdued and we are currently working to purge the remnants of the group and their work here,” Knight Kenobi said. “The Duchess has largely recovered from her time interrogated, physically.” Mace could sense a touch of reproachfulness in his voice. 

He wasn’t behaving in the manner of a Jedi Knight. He wasn’t acting like how  _ Kenobi _ usually did. Mace recalled a young boy who had clung to the Code and scorned others, perhaps even more determined because of the slights against him.

Master Yoda looked unsurprised at the news though. He merely leaned forward, humming contentedly. “Sense a new resolution you have come to Knight Kenobi. Share with us do you care to?”

Kenobi bowed his head, the first show of humility he had made since calling the Council.

“Yes, Master Yoda.” He looked up. “I request that I continue to be stationed on Mandalore. I believe that ensuring the stability of the government would be a good diplomatic move on the part of the Republic.” His tone made it sound like he intended to stay regardless of the Council’s verdict.

To Mace’s surprise, it was Master Mundi who spoke up, his grey brow furrowing.

“Knight Kenobi, would it be an undue question if we were to ask if there was another reason for your desiring to stay? You have been acting . . . highly irregular.” The Cerean Master’s voice was kind but critical.

The rest of the Council nodded. The Force had felt disturbed around Knight Kenobi for some time and yet now it was eerily at ease. Swinging from two extremes was just as concerning. The Jedi had seen that relationship with the Force only many, many eons ago.

In the time of the Sith, when conflict and uncertainty bred in the darkness.

Kenobi seemed to brace himself, but he remained resolute. “If I may be frank, Masters. The experiences I have had here on Mandalore have convinced me that there are many ways to honor the Force and the light.” He hesitated briefly before he caught himself. “I have thought over this a lot in the past months. Across the galaxy, there are many ways of life that I do not think the Jedi would be remiss for having experienced or, at least, considered.”

Mace realized he knew all too well of the glint in Kenobi’s eyes. The way he made his point— defensive yet . . . passionately.

The Jedi had no room for passion.

Mace was about to speak this point when Master Yoda nodded.

“Agree with you, Knight Kenobi, I do,” the Grand Master said, hundreds of years seeming to weigh on his voice. The entire Council froze with his words.

“For some time, terrible visions I have had. The return of darkness, I have seen. Our path in the light on Mandalore with you I sensed,” Yoda said, old eyes welling with grief. “Sorry you had to carry this burden I am.” He nodded to himself. “But sense resolution in you I do. My visions ease they have.”

Mace couldn't stop himself from asking incredulously, “Master Yoda, you cannot mean that this . . . this disrespect of the Code has solved the warnings the Force gave you?”

Yoda merely turned a disappointed look to him. “Master Windu, blinded you are by your faith. I, too, failed for some time. But remember we must the Force stagnant it is not. Permeate everything it does. Close your eyes, feel the Force. See the truth, you will.”

The Masters obeyed, reaching out in the Force.

Mace could feel the confusion turning around in his fellow Jedi, all immersed in the deep well of power and calm that was Master Yoda’s presence in the Force. He took a deep breath.

“Release your feelings blindly, you must not,” Yoda’s voice cut through their minds. “True connection to the Force needs understanding it does. Confusion becomes hatred when we fear what is not known. Let your fear control you, you must not. But by not understanding our fear, confused it becomes, and hatred is the path.

“Permit you to stay on Mandalore, we will,” Yoda finished, his expression looking more at ease than Mace had seen him in a long time. “Much we have to meditate on, I believe we do.”

“Of course, thank you, Masters,” Kenobi bowed his head. He closed off his side of the channel and Mace was left staring at the suddenly empty center in the middle of the room. It felt as though Kenobi had neatly deposited an explosive in their midst and Yoda had cheerfully endorsed it.

After their mission on Nar Shaddaa, Mace had his own reservations about the Code. In a way, he found he could . . .  _ agree _ with Kenobi. At the back of his mind, Mace swore he could hear Qui-Gon laughing at him.

He looked around the room, all of the Council members who had so doubted Kenobi’s capabilities, easily nodding their heads. They were blind fools— they all had been. Mace resisted the urge to clench his fists. Well, it was certainly clear that there was still room for even the Jedi High Council to improve.

“If we’re finished,” Mace stood up, giving a civil nod to the other Masters. He tried not to seem like he was storming out of the room.

He knew how to talk to Skywalker.

* * *

Anakin was working on the loose skeleton of an astromech droid that he may or may have not requisitioned from the basement level of the Jedi Temple to work on when Master Windu sharply knocked on his door. 

He nearly dropped the wrench into his lapful of communication components at the strangely intense look Master Windu gave him. And this was why he specifically tried to minimize the time he spent with his Master. Secretly, he was still worried that one moment Windu would suddenly remember that Anakin didn’t deserve to be a Jedi.

Honestly, at this point, he should’ve been used to the changing moods of his Master. 

“Master Windu!” Anakin very calmly said, dumping all the spare parts to the side to stand up.

Windu’s expression twitched in that way that Anakin was starting to realize was potentially a smile.

“Anakin,” Windu greeted, still with that strangely amused look in his eyes. Right, that was another thing Anakin was still getting used to. Sometimes he still wasn’t sure it was Master Windu when there was no sharp call of “Padawan Skywalker”. 

“You asked me a few weeks ago if you would ever be able to see your mother again,” Windu said. 

Anakin looked at him incredulously. Was this some sort of test? He hesitantly nodded.

“Pack a bag and meet me in the hanger in half an hour. We’re going to Tatooine,” Windu said. A moment later and Anakin only saw the swirl of his cloak in the doorway.

What the kriff?

He stared at the empty hallway for a good minute longer before his body forced itself into action. They were going to Tatooine?  _ They were going to Tatooine. _

Anakin wasn’t sure if it was dread or anticipation that knotted in his stomach. Force. He . . . he was going back to Tatooine. He took a steadying breath, trying to calm his pounding heartbeat. It had only been a year, yet it felt like an eon had passed. Anakin had  _ changed _ . He was different— if sand got in his hair now, he’d probably be able to see it with how dark his hair had become!

He closed his eyes and tried to see his mom. There was a faint outline of dark hair and crinkled eyes. Sun. Warmth.

Would she remember him?

Anakin looked at his dresser, looking at the few pairs of robes he had. He hovered over the musty desert robes, more rags at this point, he had first brought. He fisted his hand in the cloth, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat. Anakin picked the shirt up and inhaled the smell of dust and heat.

He’d washed the robes to get the dirt and sweat from the cloth to store, but some things seemed worn in, more a part of the robes than the very weave that made them up.

But Anakin wasn’t sure how Master Windu exactly planned on them going to Tatooine. Had the Council given them permission? The Republic and Jedi weren’t really welcome in Hutt space, less so after they had uncovered the smuggling ring on Nar Shaddaa.

Would Anakin be coming as Anakin the Jedi Padawan or Anakin the freed slave?

“My name is Anakin Skywalker. I am free,” he whispered to himself, reassuring himself. The words gave him strength.

After a few more seconds of internal debate, Anakin packed spare Jedi robes and his old tunic. It wouldn’t hurt to have both, even if Master Windu would likely bake in his own Jedi robes.

That decided, he finished packing a few of his belongings, shoving his comlink in as well. He shoved the astromech in the corner, messily tidying up the rest of the spare parts.

Anakin hesitated before the door. This felt strangely significant. He wasn’t sure why they were going to Tatooine— it certainly didn’t  _ feel _ like any sort of Jedi business. Not to mention Anakin was grounded from missions, so it definitely couldn’t be.

He stepped out of the door of the room that had been his home for the past year.

_ Home _ .

Was it his home? He’d stayed there for so long (Anakin forced himself to remember that the room would still be there to return to— provided Master Windu wasn’t just dumping him on Tatooine), and he had grown a lot there. But just  _ sleeping _ somewhere didn’t make it  _ home _ .

When Anakin thought of a home, he thought of mom and the strong smell of Tatooine chai. He thought of riding speeders and shaking the sand out of his boots and the thrill of flying and the smell of burning ozone and practicing lightsaber katas until his muscles screamed and he collapsed.

How could the Jedi Temple be home when his mom wasn’t there?

But at the same time, returning to Tatooine didn’t feel like returning home. There was too much blood and pain to remember the place fondly enough to give it that name.

Anakin didn’t realize his feet had taken him to the hanger until he heard Master Windu’s voice.

“Are you just going to stand there forever, Padawan Skywalker, or are you planning on becoming engine fuel?” Windu asked amusedly.

Anakin blinked. “Oh. Yes— I’m coming, Master Windu.” He was helpless to the childish grin for being in a shuttle again— one of the more updated models, too. His eyes roved over the walls of panels and glowing buttons eagerly. Forget Tatooine— this was a trip in itself.

The question tumbled out of him before he could check himself. “Can I co-pilot?”

Anakin felt hot when Windu stared at him, expecting a scathing rejection once more.

Silence.

Then, “don’t kill us, Padawan.”

Anakin really couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face then.

* * *

Halfway across the galaxy, in a clean room of softly humming monitors, Satine woke up.

Her body was aching, but the brunt of it was eased by a steady influx of pain medication. Instead, she just felt heavy, acutely aware of the weight of her limbs in the bed. But all in all, Satine felt far better than the last time she had been awake. She looked to the side and couldn’t help a soft chuckle.

Obi-Wan was in a chair at her bedside, much like he had been before, but in quite the opposite image of attention. His head was tilted at an uncomfortable angle, having slipped off his hand, and eyelashes caught the hospital room’s light as he breathed gently.

It was kind of adorable.

Satine felt something in her chest ease at the sight of it. She was in a hospital bed and her throat was scratchy as hell, but somehow, she was feeling optimistic. More optimistic than she had in a long time.

She had someone to look after, now, and it wasn’t because of some obligation or title. She chose this.

The thought made Satine unusually giddy.

It was probably the drugs.

A revelation struck her.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely to the unconscious Obi-Wan, suddenly very much needing him to know that. She winced at how rough her voice sounded. 

There was a warm feeling in her chest at the words. It felt nice. She repeated the words to see if they were related. 

“I love you.” The same warm feeling. 

Satine really hoped that wasn’t the drugs. She dozed off again, a faint smile on her lips. Obi-Wan didn’t stir at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dang y'all F the jedi amiright
> 
> fun fact! the astromech is R4 (in this au anakin gives R4 to obi-wan ;) )
> 
> one more to go!! hope y'all are ready for the absolute beast of a final chapter!


	18. XVI: THE SUNS WILL SHINE ON US

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the end approaches, Tatooine features, and feelings happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue "asgard is a people, not a place"

After a while, Satine was starting to get impatient sitting around. Stars, how long could they keep her bed-bound? They’d tested all of her vitals and had taken their fair share of blood samples— all of which thankfully came back clear. 

She’d been patient, too. Let the doctors fuss over her, giving her bacta in all different forms, an IV, and even laid around until her ass had lost feeling. She’d definitely felt the internal burns they told her about before, but now, she’d recovered enough to be weaned off the heavy painkillers. 

So she felt fairly sure that she should be cleared to at least take to home rest. Duchess or no, there were other people that could use the resources her health advisors saw fit to pump her full of.

Satine caught a glimpse of a figure approaching her room.

“Obi!” She called, gesturing for him to hurry. She was pleased to see that his knee looked mostly recovered as well. He would need it.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow as he entered, amused. “Coming, _darling_ , what do you need so urgently?”

Satine tried to not let her flush show at the endearment. Obi-Wan always used such names casually, but since their conversation on the shuttle, there was subtext. Or perhaps the subtext had always been there and Satine just hadn’t wanted to look.

She pushed the frazzled thoughts aside. There was something more important.

“I need you to help me break out of the hospital,” Satine announced, whispering unnecessarily.

Obi-Wan stared at her for a beat, waiting for her serious expression to crack. It didn’t.

“I’m sorry, what?” He sounded strangled.

“I’m not getting anything done in here,” Satine huffed, waving her hand around. “They can provide me as many datapads as they like— I can’t focus in here. And as much as I disagree with Death Watch, they’ve shown me a lot of the shortcomings of my government. I want to start on my restructuring plans. Also— I just want to wear some damn pants.” 

She scowled at Obi-Wan, who was clearly doing his best to hold in laughter. 

“Whoa, hold on.” He stepped up to her bedside monitor. “Are you still on heavy pain killers?” He looked over her critically.

Satine pouted. “No, I’m already on the lighter dosages. The bacta was efficient— now, it’s between rounds, are you going to help me or not?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back a smile. “I suppose.”

“That wasn’t quite the enthusiasm I was hoping for,” she said petulantly.

“Oh, sorry. I would be delighted to assist you in finding a pair of pants, Satine,” Obi-Wan said, injecting zeal into his voice.

“That’s the spirit!” Satine said. “You should probably pick me up— you’ll run faster than I can walk.” Obi-Wan sighed and Satine couldn’t help a laugh as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Anything for the Duchess,” Obi-Wan said with a long-suffering tone. But Satine could see the blush on his neck when she pressed a kiss to his collarbone. It was difficult work, pretending not to love teasing him. Pretending not to love him.

“Thank you, Obi,” Satine smiled, softly. “Oh— there are some guards— you’d better run!” She would tell him after she sorted out her thoughts. She would.

Obi-Wan grunted beneath her and broke out in a sprint.

And that was how Satine broke out of her own hospital.

* * *

When they landed at Mos Espa and the dust cleared, Anakin nearly thought he’d never left. It was around midday and the port was just as dirty and filled with sleazy individuals as before. He hadn’t realized how Mos Espa had compared to other Hutt ports before going to Nar Shaddaa, but, if he was being honest, there wasn’t much of a difference. If anyone wanted proof that darkness could linger in blinding light, they only needed to travel to a desert planet owned by the Hutts.

Master Windu stopped Anakin before they stepped off.

“Anakin, I wanted to tell you that the Jedi have not been keeping tabs on your family.”

“Yeah?” Anakin turned to him, unsure where this was going. There was a look of consternation on Master Windu’s face. 

“That is to say,” Windu hesitated slightly, in a very un-Windu-like fashion. “I’m unsure of your mother’s fate. I’m sorry. But if there’s a chance that she’s available, I wanted to offer you this chance to see her again,” Windu said softly, bracingly. As if Anakin would shatter at the words.

He stared outside the hatch, looking at the sand that always seemed to bounce light off in a way that made it seem like there were no shadows. It was easy to get lost in the sand— sometimes villages disappeared, sometimes it was just individuals. A lot of times, it was slaves, freed from everything— even memory.

Anakin forced a smile. “Okay. But we’ll do our best to find her. And if she’s not out there . . . I’ll accept it. That’s the Jedi way, right?” 

Anakin didn’t truly think he’d be able to be that calm if his mom had died— the thought of it sent anxiety and nausea rushing. But, somehow, deep down, he knew she was alright. He could feel her— out there in the sands.

“Let’s go, then,” he urged Master Windu, who was staring at him with another one of his unreadable looks. “The suns will only get hotter.”

The first steps in the sand were the hardest, Anakin’s feet sinking in in the way he had forgotten, but his body hadn’t. His body automatically distributed his weight and they began the trek to the port’s bustling center, the bright light of the twin suns glaring down on them.

The marketplace of Mos Espa had changed in tiny ways that only someone who had lived their whole life there would understand. The elders who sat at the edges of the clearing, beads out on sun-worn mats smiled the same toothy smiles, the sizzling of pans frying and mouths shouting out bargains was the same. But it was the tiny stalls, where some had changed, their owners likely arrested for not paying their taxes, that Anakin paid attention.

Anakin felt Master Windu fall into step behind him. With his tall stature and foreign robes, he screamed off-worlder. Anakin supposed he looked much the same but it was an unsettling feeling for his Master to look to _him_ as a guide. Once, Tatooine had been his stomping grounds.

He took a deep breath of the sandy atmosphere, feeling the dryness seize up his lungs momentarily. Anakin caught the familiar smell of bugs roasting with various spices.

Now . . . he wasn’t sure.

“Here,” Anakin gestured for Master Windu to follow him. Regardless of how different he felt, it would take a lot more than just time and distance to make him forget the tackily-decorated shop of a certain Toydarian.

“It’s best if I talk,” Anakin warned Windu. 

Not that Master Windu’s intimidating height wouldn’t be useful, but he’d seen how Watto reacted to Jedi before. With how long he held grudges, he probably still cursed Master Qui-Gon for taking Anakin away.

Much like how when he left him, Watto was shouting angrily at someone. But the Toydarian had always had a sixth sense for customers and as soon as they neared the entrance he made a hissing noise and angrily gestured at whoever now worked for him. Anakin swallowed down a sympathetic wince.

Watto turned with his most charming smile on his grizzled face when his eyes froze on Anakin. “How can I help . . . _eh?_ Ani? Have you come to return to my service?” He gave a winning grin that mostly looked unpleasant.

Anakin bit back a scathing comment. He’d never kneel to this creature again.

“I’m looking for my mother. Shmi Skywalker?” Anakin asked, trying not to feel Windu’s eyes on his back. He was grateful to Windu for giving him this opportunity but he didn’t want to see any sort of pity. He didn’t _need_ pity— he needed to find his mom.

Watto merely grunted, his yellow eyes squinting in concentration. “Shmi? Eh, sorry, Ani. I don’t own her no more. I sold her— you know the way business goes, eh?”

Anakin stared at him for a moment, ice filling his stomach. No, that wasn’t right. He could _feel_ mom— she was somewhere near. He tried not to let his imagination get away from him— after all, once slaves were sold, they could be transported off-world, go anywhere and who knew if he’d ever see her again—

“Who?” Anakin stepped forward, forcing calm into his voice. When Watto felt pressure, he usually clammed up. It was like Master Kluub told him— _take a deep breath, process it. Understand it._ Patience was important. Anakin could wait. “Who did you sell her to?” He tried not to be painfully aware of the weight of his lightsaber on his belt. 

Watto scratched his stubbled chin. “Eh, think it was a moisture farmer with the name of . . . eh, Lars? Think it was Lars. Heard they were getting married, if you can believe it.”

Anakin looked at Watto intensely. He couldn’t jump to conclusions, he reminded himself. “And do you know where they are?” He asked, patience wearing thin.

The Toydarian squirmed under his gaze. “Somethin’ different about you, Ani, you know that? And who’s your friend here?” Watto awkwardly laughed then withered under Anakin and Windu’s wordless stares. He huffed, “alright, fine. Lemme check my records.”

Twenty minutes and several cheap sales pitches later, Anakin and Master Windu walked out of Watto’s shop with one Cliegg Lars’ residence.

Windu laid a gentle hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “You handled that well,” he said softly. Despite the mood seeing Watto had put him in and the nervous anticipation thrumming through him, Anakin found there was still room for the flush of pride at Windu’s words.

“Thank you, Master.”

Anakin led them to another street shop where they purchased a speeder for an exorbitant price but, Anakin made sure, not an overly exorbitant one. He watched Master Windu hand over the handful of credits and tried not to let his breakfast come up.

They got the speeder, a rustic model that was probably last considered new before Anakin was born, and filled it with only slightly-overpriced fuel. Thankfully, the speeder came with two already-sandy protective goggles— “a bargain deal” the slimy dealer had assured them, staring nervously at Windu’s robes. Not wanting to make a scene, they really would’ve taken any deal that wasn’t outright robbery.

Windu plugged the coordinates Watto gave them into the console that blinked alive slowly. Then, they were steadily racing across the desert, the twin suns beating down on them. Grains of sand pelted their tinted goggles and Anakin tried to remember when this sandy world had been his entire life.

* * *

“We’ve managed to get most of the citizens who had ingested the explosives to purge them and those that have stayed we’re working on remotely disabling them,” Ude’tuun reported to them. “Though we suspect that the nanobots weren't Death Watch’s own technology, likely shipped in from an off-world source. We’re still working on tracking down who it was.”

Obi-Wan looked at the file as Ude’tuun told them about rounding up the Death Watch soldiers to be put to trial for any crimes they had assisted in. Of the hundreds of Mandalorian citizens that had become hosts to the nanobots, only three of them had detonated before Ude’tuun sent out the signal scrambler. 

Not a half bad record considering the man had been Chief of Mandalorian Police for less than a week.

It helped that since Satine had regained full agency over her government again, she’d begun to roll out her reforms, with renewed efforts at transparency with the public. The ruling council had apparently been holding out on Satine for a while before the recent resurgence of Death Watch. But both the council and the public melted under Satine’s impassioned speeches about the inhuman treatments Death Watch encouraged.

“That’s excellent news, Ude’tuun,” Satine smiled. Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure how she could still smile after everything, but she plastered the look on convincingly. Only the tightness around her eyes betrayed how much she would rather this mess be over with.

“And the elections?” Satine said.

“We’ve planned for increased security, but the voting process should be able to take place per usual at the public forum,” Ude’tuun nodded.

“Excellent,” Satine said. Obi-Wan watched wryly as she drew up more details about the voting procedures. She and Ude’tuun became absorbed in discussing the elections. Really, at this point, Obi-Wan had become a glorified nurse to ensure Satine didn’t overwork herself, yet she seemed content to orchestrate planetary-wide political events without breaking a sweat.

Obi-Wan tried to convince himself that it wasn’t as attractive as it really was.

But even though they had both admitted to liking each other, he couldn’t help but hesitate. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable to be in this limbo, but Obi-Wan was even less comfortable pushing the matter. A part of him couldn’t help but fear Satine had just said it as some sort of . . . offer of pity? 

No, Satine wouldn’t mock him in such a way. But she’d also said it after he collapsed in front of her— it hadn’t exactly been a fair position.

Obi-Wan silently groaned to himself. He would discuss it with Satine— he’d learned his lesson about communication. Just . . . not yet. 

When he came back to himself, Satine and Ude’tuun were still enthusiastically discussing voter verification and anonymity. But Obi-Wan softened when he saw the undeniable happiness in Satine’s eyes.

This was where she belonged. And if that was the case, Obi-Wan was happy to stand at her side for it.

* * *

They approached a small collection of sunbaked buildings. There were a few vaporators that dotted the surrounding area as their speeder came closer to the homestead. This must be the farm, Anakin realized.

When they parked and made to disembark, a figure left the house, wrapped in sandy-colored tunics. It was a man with greyed hair and a stern expression in his face, a rusty blaster in his hands. His whole being seemed to be calloused, from working long hours in the sun his whole life.

“Who’re you?” the man called.

Was this the landowner? The man who owned his mother?

Anakin stared at him, trying to pick apart his expression. “Are you Cliegg Lars?” He asked.

“This is my farm. What do you want?” Cliegg squinted at them.

Anakin felt a lump form in his throat. Had this man really married mom? He still had a suspicious look on his face— not that Anakin could wholly blame him. Usually house calls were either the Hutt tax collector coming by or people with even more unsavory business.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker. I’m looking for my mom, Shmi Skywalker,” he said.

Cliegg’s face slackened. “You’re Anakin?”

Anakin could read the expression on his face and wasn’t sure if the man was about to punch him or hug him. Cliegg rushed forward and he had no time to react as Cliegg dropped the blaster and wrapped him in a tight embrace. 

He was happy.

Cliegg, someone Anakin had never met before, was _happy_ to see him.

Anakin couldn’t remember the last time someone had just genuinely been joyful to see him.

He tried to blink away the tears forming in his eyes, focusing on Cliegg’s words. “I couldn’t tell from the hair,” Cliegg said, a laugh in his voice. “Shmi always told me that you had hair like the sun— blond as sand and all that.” He pulled away. “Well then, it’s been awhile since you’ve been on Tatooine, right? We better get a welcome ceremony underway then. Come in, come in— Shmi will be in later, she’s out getting the blue milk.”

Cliegg ushered them inside and nodded his head at Master Windu. “And you, sir?”

“No relation to Shmi Skywalker,” Windu said dryly. “I’m Master Windu.”

Cliegg laughed again— Anakin noticed he did that a lot— and smiled. He seemed unperturbed that Anakin had shown up from nowhere with a Jedi in tow. “Not a problem with that. The more the merrier.”

They entered the homestead, a humble accommodation made up of a few rooms all built from the same sandstone of the buildings in Mos Espa. A young man was fiddling with a few pieces of a vaporator laid before him on a table. 

He didn’t look up as they entered. “Hey dad, I think the Tusken Raiders are messing with our stuff again. Some of the radiators have some uneven carbon scoring on them.”

“Oh, yes. Anakin, Master Windu, this is my son, Owen,” Cliegg introduced them. “Owen, this is Shmi’s son.”

“Nice to meet you,” Owen dipped his head to them, relaxing the look of frustration on his face for a moment to smile. He had Cliegg’s eyes, Anakin noticed distantly. _A son_.

He shook himself from his thoughts and moved forward without realizing it and sat across from Owen. “Can I try?” he forced his fingers to still, reminding himself that people usually didn’t like their stuff being grabbed by strangers.

“Have at it,” Owen sighed, putting the parts down.

Anakin leaned forward, looking over the screws. It was part of a valve, he realized. He picked the parts up. They felt worn and used in his hands, familiar even though he’d never really worked on vaporators that often with Watto. There was a faint tingle as he turned them over and Anakin let the Force and his instincts guide him.

A few moments later, he finished slotting the last piece together. “That should be it.”

He looked up and saw Owen swallow down an awed expression. “That was incredible,” the teenager breathed. 

Anakin felt his neck flush in pleasure. “Oh, it’s really nothing.”

“Guess Shmi wasn’t lying when she said you made a podracer out of spare parts,” Cliegg clapped a hand on his shoulder.

Anakin bit back the urge to say _and I won_. It felt strange to laugh about these things that had felt like life and death, and yet none of the people he had done it with were with him. Not mom or Obi-Wan, or even Padmé.

Owen seemed to sense the lull in conversation and stood. “I’ll be heading back out to check on the rest of the vaporators and fit this part back on.” He hesitated then offered shyly, “I don’t think Shmi will be in until later this afternoon— do you want to come with?”

As much as Anakin wanted to plant himself in the homestead and refuse to leave until Shmi walked in, he forced himself to move. It may well do him good to see this new family Shmi had found herself.

“Sure,” he said, then looked to Master Windu. “Er, that is if . . .”

“As long as you don’t plan on vandalizing property, I’ll be fine, Anakin.” In the end, it was Windu’s unimpressed expression that reassured Anakin enough to leave.

Meeting his step-brother was nothing compared to Anakin’s trepidation at what Master Windu and Cliegg would talk about. While, he was starting to see, mom had probably told Cliegg a lot about him, Windu’s heaping of embarrassing stories about Anakin was nothing to scoff at. Hopefully nothing would be discussed that would result in Anakin no longer being able to show his face around the Lars homestead ever again.

Before they left the homestead, Owen awkwardly showed Anakin his room. It was simple and decorated sparsely with various knickknacks, a few japor beads arranged on a dresser.

But what caught Anakin’s eyes was the grey, humanoid figure in the corner. The stiff, metallic stature was familiar . . . it couldn’t be. Anakin stepped forward, reverently touching the protocol droid’s face.

“C-3PO! You added to him,” Anakin said, noting the new paneling and layers added to him since he had last worked on him.

Owen nervously scratched his head. “Yeah. I hope you don’t mind. I just had him in here because Shmi was struggling with his upkeep so I tried . . .”

Anakin turned around and wrapped Owen in a loose embrace. He smiled genuinely, “thank you.” _Thank you for helping mom. Thank you for being there for her._

Owen relaxed, relieved that Anakin was irritated. “It’s nothing. Though, you programmed him with a strange personality system.”

Anakin laughed, rolling his eyes. “Trust me, it wasn’t my design.”

* * *

Satine could see the electricity in her mind. It was glowing hairs, almost thinner than the eye could see, and yet when it touched her, her muscles turned to iron cords, twisting onto themselves. Her jaw clenched, as if her teeth wanted to grind themselves to dust and yet try as she could, she couldn’t relax her face.

Satine’s head slammed into something hard and she woke up.

The room was dark around Satine and she could distantly feel her shirt, drenched in sweat. She sucked in deep breaths of air, not caring that her lungs burned and her body ached. The adrenaline slowly drained from her. Her room— not the hospital or the _other_ room. 

She wiped her hand against her clammy forehead. It drew away damp.

Another nightmare.

Satine shoved her blankets away from her, the warmth feeling suffocating.

There was a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Satine called, a bit shakily.

“Are you alright?” A muffled voice came. Obi-Wan.

Forcing her legs to move, Satine stood up and opened her door. She smiled wobbly at Obi-Wan, “hello there.” 

Moonlight flooded in from the hall, illuminating the worried expresion on his face. Satine lifted her hand to instinctively brush the hair away from her face but her hand came away before touching the close-cropped hair that had begun to grow back. Right. Sometimes she still forgot.

“I’m fine,” Satine insisted.

Obi-Wan stared at her in concern. “Are you sure? I . . . I felt something.”

Satine raised an eyebrow at him skeptically, trying to play off how palid she must look. As much as she had been serious about their relationship being a supporting-one-another sort of thing, a part of her recoiled at the thought of Obi-Wan seeing her so weak again. It was one thing to support one another . . . something in Satine’s stomach twisted at the thought of Obi-Wan worrying about her.

More than he already was, at least.

“I’m fine,” Satine said, wholly unconvincing. She would be fine. Dr. Jahaal said recovery was a process.

But some part of her apparently wanted to torture herself because Satine stepped back and let Obi-Wan come in. She partially sat, partially fell down onto the crumpled blankets on her floor and Obi-Wan sat beside her, leaving some distance between them. The room was dark and silent but for the hum of the climate control.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Obi-Wan asked hesitantly. Satine smiled shakily. It was almost more reassuring than the verbal offer the fact that he was still rather clumsy when it came to trying to address emotions. But he was still trying.

“I . . .” Satine trailed off. “It’s difficult,” she finished lamely. 

It was difficult. Talking. Existing. Sometimes it was all she could do to sit in meetings and not visibly flinch when the waves of anxiety hit her. She used to always be so cool under pressure.

She was getting tired of people treating her like damn glass.

“Would you like me to show you how to meditate? That often helps me when I’m trying to sort things out,” he offered.

“I thought only Jedi were allowed to.”

“Anyone can.” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft, gentle. His posture was open and relaxed. There wasn’t any judgment. 

Satine took a deep breath. “All right. Let me change first.”

Obi-Wan politely looked away even though the room was still securely wreathed in darkness. The part of Satine that wasn’t exhausted found the gesture inexplicably sweet. She felt for her dresser and quickly changed, tossing her damp sleepclothes to the side to wash later. 

The new clothes already made her feel fresher, more awake. “Right, show me what to do,” she offered a small smile to Obi-Wan.

It was strangely similar to her sessions with Dr. Jahaal. But instead of her therapist, Obi-Wan’s accented voice filled the room with a sort of soothing calm. Satine closed her eyes and let it wash over her.

“Breathe. Think about how you feel. Try to articulate it to yourself if you can. Feel it and acknowledge it.” Obi-Wan said. 

Satine followed him, listening to his breaths with her own. In and out. In quiet moments like this, she could almost see her parents in her mind’s eye. Were they proud of her? Or did they look at the path she had taken and disapprove? Did they know how she had failed Bo? She thought about her time in that cell.

She had felt so damn cold and alone.

“Then let it go.”

Satine felt her face scrunch up, her chest suddenly feeling tight. Perhaps there wasn’t enough air in the room to split between two.

“I don’t think I can do that,” she said quickly at Obi-Wan’s concerned look. “Not yet.”

Obi-Wan touched her arm briefly, pulling away automatically. She tried to push down the feeling of disappointment. “Satine . . . you _know_ that you deserve this, right?” Satine resisted the urge to laugh self-deprecatingly. She’d failed her people— perhaps she did deserve the sleepless nights. 

Obi-Wan shifted in the dark and suddenly the light was on, chasing the dark from her room.

He continued, oblivious to her inner monologue.“Ruling your people— you’ve earned it more than any of us can say.”

“People still got hurt,” Satine said bitterly, looking away.

Obi-Wan stared at her, a look of concentration on his face. As if he was trying to piece together what was happening in Satine’s mind. Like he could just reach in and fix everything.

Just fix things then leave— that was the Jedi way, wasn’t it?

“People got hurt,” she repeated more coldly, eyes daring Obi-Wan to reach forward again and try another of his half-assed touches. She didn’t want his indifferent brushes and glances. She was so tired of feeling cold and alone all the time.

And of course, he took the taunt.

Satine tried not to let a sob escape her when Obi-Wan slowly hugged her. She didn’t pull away. It was like breathing and in one breath, Satine was sucked into him. 

“Did you think it was your job to make sure no one got hurt?” Obi-Wan said softly into her shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Satine whispered. _Yes._ The lump in her throat was threatening to overwhelm her.

“There will always be crime, there will be people who hurt one another,” Obi-Wan rationalized to her. Satine finally broke down, shaking silently into his arms. It was so warm.

Yes, there was crime. But she was supposed to have been better than that. She was supposed to have been able to save Mandalore— to bring it glory again in a new way. Lower crime, better healthcare. Satine had been supposed to be better and better _alone_ because she was a woman and a pacifist and a leader.

But instead, she’d just been really fucking scared.

Obi-Wan pressed on, “but then there are people like you who continue to look at the world and ask still ‘how can this be better?’”

Satine just cried harder, getting his robes wet.

“I’m sorry, Satine. I’m sorry I was blind to your problems before. I’m sorry I was so . . . so damn stubborn,” Obi-Wan said hoarsely.

She scowled into his chest. “No— stop it. You . . . you don’t have to apologize anymore.” She gave a frail smile, “after all, you helped me break out of the hospital.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan smiled, a bit of exasperation covering the overwhelming amount of worry still flooding his expression. Satine sighed and looked away from his face, instead contented with making herself more comfortable in their pile of blankets. She felt Obi-Wan hesitantly relax around her, hesitantly. It was nice.

They stayed like that for a few minutes longer, curled around each other as Satine’s breathing steadied. Obi-Wan’s body still radiated concern despite the facade of ease.

“I think I’m going to be okay,” Satine finally said into his shoulder. And, she realized, she meant it. She was fairly sure she would never regain the loopy optimism she’d had while high on painkillers, but this didn’t feel half bad.

Obi-Wan shifted. “I should . . . I should go,” Obi-Wan suddenly said.

Satine tugged on his sleeve. “Can you stay? Please?” she asked. Tried not to sound scared.

There was no reluctance, teasing or no, in his body language this time. Obi-Wan mutely nodded and tucked himself back around Satine in their makeshift blanket nest.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” Obi-Wan said, honestly. She smiled even though he couldn’t see it. His beard brushed her ear, his breath a faint touch on her cheek. It felt reassuring to have such a solid barrier to the outside world. She felt the tension finally ebb away from her tired limbs.

Satine fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

Mace looked over the humble homestead after Padawan Skywalker left. It was almost similar to the sort of humble abode a traveling Jedi would take up, and yet there were small details that made it painfully clear that the structure was a home and not simply a shelter. The conditions were from poverty, but not lack of fondness for the place.

“Can I help you to anything, Master Jedi?” Cliegg finally moved, an ingrained sense of hospitality overtaking any awkwardness.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Mace said. ‘And please just call me Master Windu.” With all the vaporators they had seen on the way in, he doubted there was much water to spare and he made a point to not drink in unfamiliar places.

This was the place that Skywalker would have grown up in, had he not joined the Order.

It was strange to think about such a scenario.

Mace rubbed at his right arm absentmindedly. The limb hardly hurt any more after his body had acclimatized to the prosthetic, yet he noticed occasionally that extreme temperatures could cause a slight strain.

“You alright there?” Cliegg voice came.

Mace wondered if acute observation skills were a common trait of people from Tatooine. Perhaps from learning to distinguish the subtleties of the dunes.

“It’s nothing. The prosthetic just aches occasionally,” he dismissed.

Cliegg’s kindly face furrowed with concern. “If it’s all the same to you, I could give it a look and ease the pressure in the joint? I’m not near Owen, or Anakin for the matter, as a mechanic, but I can mind my way around droids.”

Mace hesitated then nodded. He might as well accept the offer after denying the drink— he wasn’t quite sure the extent of Tatooine hospitality.

Cliegg brought out a toolbox of worn, but well-maintained tools and gestured for Mace to roll up his sleeve. Mace pulled up the robes, also revealing his concealed lightsaber. To Cliegg’s credit, he hardly glanced at it before getting to work on adjusting Mace’s arm.

“Anakin seems like a fine boy,” Cliegg said. “I can see why Shmi is so proud of him.”

Mace thought to how Anakin had handled navigating through Mos Espa and seeing the Toydarian who had _owned_ him. Though his anger had flashed through the Force, he had swallowed it down. Released it. His Padawan had grown.

“He will be a good Jedi,” Mace nodded. Cliegg finished his adjustments to his arm and pulled away and Mace tested it, pleased to find it more responsive. “Thank you,” he added.

Cliegg stared at him intently, hesitating slightly. “It’s not my place to ask, not having really known the boy, but . . .” His blue eyes reminded Mace of Anakin. “Is he happy?”

Mace bit back saying _it wasn’t Jedi’s purpose to find happiness_. But non-sensitives rarely understood the magnitude of the Force and how it dictated a Jedi’s life. He thought about how Anakin looked when he was piloting or when he was practicing katas. He shone in the Force. But it wasn’t always happy. Mace still remembered the storm that had battered him on Nar Shaddaa.

“Is anyone truly happy always?” he instead deflected.

“Master Windu, I asked you a simple question— not for a philosophy lesson,” Cliegg countered.

Mace breathed in, feeling the humble aura of the home in the Force. It radiated simple joys and family. Did Anakin miss this?

“He has grown a lot,” Mace started. “I . . . can’t say for certain if he is happy, but I like to think that he’s working his way to something like it.” Sometimes, the honest truth was the easiest answer.

Cliegg nodded, satisfied. “Well, I know raising a kid alone isn’t easy. D’you want to help me organize the pantry for when Shmi comes back?”

Mace roused himself to move and nodded. “Sure.” There was a warmth in his chest that he was sure wasn’t from the planet’s temperature.

* * *

Anakin and Owen passed them time largely in silence, which was surprisingly nice. Owen seemed to be a quiet person, working diligently in the hot sun. But like any person from Tatooine, he appreciated good workmanship and Anakin’s progress with the vaporators and his reaction to C-3PO seemed to have warmed him to Anakin.

Normally, Anakin was a talkative person but in this instance . . . he really wasn’t sure what to say. His preconceptions about Owen had eased, leaving an awkward void between them. That and he was starting to feel like he was being roasted from the outside in by the suns in his Jedi robes.

So when a beaten up speeder made its way across the sands toward the homestead and saw distinctive curls slip from the shawl on the figure’s shoulders, Anakin felt overwhelmed by the relief and excitement that washed over him.

_Mom._

“That’ll be Shmi,” Owen said, wiping sweat from his brow. But Anakin was already running down the dune, not caring how much sand got into his boots for his efforts.

Shmi Skywalker had barely stepped down from the speeder when a dark blur nearly tackled her. She looked down, trying to see the face of whoever had wrapped around her. Surprise flooded her expression, quickly followed by overwhelming joy. “Wh— Ani?”

 _“Mom,”_ Anakin was unable to say anything else, emotion taking over him. 

His mom gently released him, her warm eyes looking over Anakin’s face just as eagerly as he watched her. “Oh, Ani. You’ve grown so much,” she said softly, a bit sadly. “Have you been safe? You’ve been eating your vegetables?”

Anakin looked to the side, a shadow falling over the excitement of the moment. He thought about Nar Shaddaa, about the promises he made.

“Oh, what’s wrong, dearest?” His mom ran her fingers through his short hair soothingly.

“It’s just . . . I told you I would come back and free you,” Anakin said, trying to not sound upset. Of course, it was fine that mom was free. It was more than fine— especially since it had been by someone as kind as Cliegg.

But secretly, Anakin couldn’t help but dread to see his mom alongside Cliegg and Owen. 

“Mom— do you really love Cliegg?” Anakin abruptly asked, hoping to shake the look of clear understanding on his mom’s face. He didn’t want _her_ to feel sad. Not now.

His mom looked healthy. She looked . . . happy. There was color in her cheeks beneath the tan. And wasn’t that all Anakin could hope for her?

“Anakin,” his mom gently guided his eyes to meet hers. “I do love him. He freed me and I love him, and not just because of that. But I will _always_ ,” she pressed a kiss to his head, “love you. Never forget that, Ani.” There was a tone in her voice that demanded she not be argued with.

“I love you too, mom,” Anakin gave up his lingering thoughts and wormed further into her arms.

He became aware of footsteps approaching them and saw Cliegg and Master Windu emerge from the homestead, helping Owen lug the jars of blue milk and other groceries into the house.

“I see the reunion has been had,” Cliegg announced. He marched up to them and gave a peck on the cheek to Shmi. “All was well at the market?”

“Yes, everything was fine,” Shmi smiled, a soft look in her eyes.

It was different from the sort of protective look that entered her eyes when she looked at Anakin. There was still love in the gaze, but . . . there was less sadness there. Anakin wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Before he knew what was happening, Anakin found Owen leading him back inside. 

“Time to welcome old blood back,” Cliegg said warmly. 

The familiarity of long-performed rituals called Anakin back to his childhood and he automatically took a seat at the low table. Owen brought the chipped, earthen tea set before them, setting out the cups. His mom and Cliegg sat across from him and Owen took a seat beside his father. 

There was a pause. 

“Master Windu, join us,” Cliegg gestured. 

Windu stood at the side of the room, a stern expression on his face. It eased slightly when he realized attention was on him. “I couldn’t. I’m not family,” he reminded, politely. 

“Nonsense.” It was Shmi who spoke up. “You’ve looked after my Ani— _our_ Ani. You are family.” Her voice left no room for argument and to deny it would be disrespecting their very home.

Reluctantly, Master Windu moved forward, tucking his robes closer to him as he sat beside Anakin. 

Cliegg began, mixing the hot water with the blend of spices and tea leaves.

“We come from the ground,” he began the generations-old chant. “From the ground comes life-giving water and flesh. Water is to the ground as blood is to our veins. We come from the ground and to the ground we return. Brother Anakin and brother a Windu, we welcome you back into our fold and may blood be the final thing that binds us.”

Anakin raised his cup of chai, nodding for Master Windu to follow him.

“And may chai be the first,” Anakin finished the line, feeling the breath of the desert speak through him. He had watched these sorts of greetings as a boy, the words a calming rhythm, but he’d never partaken in one as the family member returned. Secretly, sometimes he would pray that it was his father that would one day sit before them, reciting the words. But that had never happened.

Anakin felt a burn in his eyes as he lifted his cup.

They all raised their cups, giving cheers and then drank. The chai was just as warm and fragrant as Anakin remembered, the spice tickling his nose and leaving a sweet aftertaste. 

The ceremony was done and casual conversation broke out. Anakin began to eagerly tell his mom about everything that had happened to him since leaving Tatooine. It had already felt like a long time, but talking about it made the time feel like a lifetime. Cliegg left to prepare dinner for them while Anakin talked to his mom.

“I am sorry to hear about Master Qui-Gon,” Shmi’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “He was a kind man.” She gave a smile that seemed to convey the power of the twin suns toward Master Windu. “Thank you, for caring for my son.”

“Thank you. He was a good man. And your son is growing to be one as well,” Windu bowed his head.

* * *

One wouldn’t think that the inauguration ceremony of a prime minister was the place to have life-altering revelations, but Obi-Wan _had_ been taught by the most pariahlike of Jedi Masters. And, well, he had always been a good learner.

It was odd.

One moment, Obi-Wan was watching Chief Almec retire his Mandalorian police officer uniform for the robes of a prime minister, the next, his eyes were intent on the graceful figure beside Almec. 

Satine looked . . . good. Healthy. No where near the pale, ghost-like figure that had laid so still as they moved her onto the shuttle. _Death-like._ Sometimes Obi-Wan still had to remind himself that somehow, inexplicably, things hadn’t gone horribly wrong and Satine was okay and healthy. He had to remind himself that this was reality.

His breath hitched as he watched Satine step forward to speak, the light hitting her in a way that made her glow. 

Seeing the proceedings had made him think of the Senate, which only reminded him further how, regardless of his extension, he was still here courtesy of the Republic and Jedi Council. And yet, despite that awareness, there was still that heart-racing, tingling feeling that made him want to grab Satine’s hand and run far away until they were alone together.

When the inauguration was over, Satine made her way over to him, smiling gently. She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

He had to remind himself that _that_ was real as well. Satine wanting to be around him even after necessity. Satine asking him to stay. Satine being okay with this weird thing between them that was teetering on the precipice of Obi-Wan being utterly and hopelessly lost in the momentous presence of Satine _existing_.

“How was it?” Satine asked, winking.

Nevermind, he already was.

“Well, considering my general despise for politicians, this was rather pleasant,” Obi-Wan smiled. “After all, most speakers aren’t so eloquent . . .”

“You flatter me,” Satine rolled her eyes. “Considering the speakers, was it really such a contest?” Almec had spoken as well as a few of the Council members. 

“No, I suppose not,” Obi-Wan chuckled.

They made their way to a transport and Obi-Wan walked beside her. It was strange to feel taller than her— he hadn’t realized before how much her headdresses had added to her height. But since her time with Death Watch, Satine had refused to wear a wig over her shorn haircut, instead having it cleaned up and wearing it as a vehement badge of pride. The image certainly had been striking when she’d stood on the witness stand against Vizsla.

After the worst of the bruises had faded, Obi-Wan privately thought to himself the haircut didn’t look half-bad.

Obi-Wan watched her, mesmerized by the way the sunset turned the darker roots of her hair into shimmering gold and illuminated even richer colors in her eyes. He tried to avoid thinking about how the warmth reminded him of the feeling of her in his arms. 

Force, for a beat during the speech, he’d fooled himself into thinking that this sensation was what love was _._ And for the first time, there wasn’t the automatic stabbing feeling in his stomach like he’d just killed an innocent for thinking such a thing.

Was he an idiot for thinking this?

_There is more than one way to follow the light._

When they arrived at the palace, Obi-Wan was still looking at her intently. Satine finally caught his eye. “What is it?” she asked, a faint laugh in her voice. Obi-Wan touched her mind with the Force, basking in the contented warmth that oozed off her.

The thought struck him like lightning.

If this moment lasted forever, he would be happy with that.

It wasn’t like when he had felt her panicked thoughts through the Force and had leaped to the worst conclusions, rushing to her room to check on her. The embrace they had both fallen asleep together in had been tinged by the fear and guilt clinging to Satine in the Force. But, Obi-Wan noticed with relief, whatever had been bothering her had eased in her mind. Instead, this moment was pure. Happy.

_I love you._

Damn his doubts. Obi-Wan didn’t want to wait anymore to tell Satine how he felt. 

If it turned out Satine had been mistaken the whole time, then that would be that— but he was _done_ waiting in this self-pity.

“Have I told you that you look beautiful?” he asked.

Satine mouth quirked into a smile. “Only in that tone when you’re teasing.”

Obi-Wan frowned, mind blanking. “I . . . I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I meant to say.” He flushed at the unimpressed look on Satine’s face. 

“Well, I’ve never heard you say that I was ugly,” Satine dryly said.

“No— that’s not what I meant. It’s just— oh, blast it.” He looked up, sure he looked like an embarrassing wreck. He realized she was teasing him and felt the heat rise from his neck. 

Fuck it.

“Satine,” he said. Somehow, he didn’t stumble over the words. “I love you.”

There was silence, Satine clearly trying to process what he’d just said.

“And I just realized that I’d never told you before. I understand if it’s not what you wanted to hear,” Obi-Wan added in a rush, a bit breathless even though they hadn’t even moved from the transport—

Satine cupped his face in her hands— they were warm and smelled faintly of her, that lovely not-too-sweet scent that was faintly of that gentle water lily scent— 

Satine’s expression softened, “I love you, too, Obi-Wan.”

The moment as she leaned upward seemed to stretch into infinity. It was the sort of infinity that Obi-Wan wanted to melt into and yet also wanted to be over as soon as possible.

And then the moment passed and Satine’s lips were touching his. 

Obi-Wan was sure his face was on fire by the way his lips tingled and his eyes burned and his whole body felt as though it were the center of a supernova, all ready to collapse into the singularity that was Satine Kryze.

It was different than the platonic, if flirtatious, kisses Obi-Wan had exchanged with her before.

It was the making of a universe, where Obi-Wan was everything that orbited her. It felt as though, in the sunset’s warm rays, she’d set him ablaze.

“Obi-Wan?” He distantly heard Satine. She looked concerned as she pulled away. “Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Obi-Wan leaned into her, feeling embarrassed for sobbing over something like a _kiss_ , not to mention that they were in an open-air transport, very clearly visible by any who chose to look upon them. It seemed once he started crying, it was impossible to stop.

“I’m sorry. I— I just . . . I love you, Satine,” he whispered, voice muffled by her hair.

She relaxed in his arms.

“I love you, too.”

* * *

The vaporator work having been done by Anakin and Owen, Cliegg stayed in to help Shmi prepare the meal. Dinner was a warm affair, stories and laughter traded over the simple, but filling plates of mushrooms and smoked meat.

“And perhaps soon you’ll bring your girlfriend over and introduce them?” Cliegg teased. 

Owen bowed his head, face going red. “Dad!”

“Cliegg, be kinder on him,” Shmi chided him affectionately. She smiled in the way that made the wrinkles by her eyes crinkle.

Anakin watched their banter silently, a faint smile on his face. Watching his mom and the others . . . they fit together, he realized. _She_ belonged there. 

The realization didn’t bug him as much as it originally did. 

* * *

Anakin stepped out of the small earthen homestead, looking for where Master Windu had slipped off to after dinner. The desert winds howled around him as he left behind the warm chatter of his family. Or, at least, Anakin rationally knew that they were his family. Seeing mom had been like being a kid again. But Cliegg and Owen . . . . On Tatooine, family was more than blood. Anakin could see what they did for his mom and was grateful for it— he had often worried that she was alone or had even been punished for Anakin leaving. But it felt like they were a part of a chapter of his mom’s life that didn’t really feel like it had room for him.

He slowly approached the figure sitting on the dunes, watching the stars. Anakin sat beside Windu silently. He felt out, hesitantly. The calm well of power that Windu always seemed to carry in the Force was comforting. He felt Windu’s mind brush back against his.

“Master Windu?”

“Yes, Anakin?” Windu’s Voice didn’t sound as tired as it often had in the past month.

“Thank you for participating in the ceremony. It means a lot to them. Especially mom,” Anakin said, softly. He was unsure at what else to say— how could he describe the amount of fear and uncertainty and trust his mom had put into Qui-Gon when she let him take Anakin away? The tea ritual had been her way of welcoming him back, reminding herself that Anakin was well. It was Anakin’s way to tell as well. 

Anakin had never had a father and had grown to accept it. But as he watched the understanding dawn in Master Windu’s eyes, he realized Windu came pretty damn close. 

“It was my pleasure to,” Windu finally said. The Force whispered the truth of his words. 

Anakin hummed, looking up at the barest hint of twinkling stars. He hadn’t realized Coruscant’s pollution blocked out so many of the stars until he could see so many of them. And yet most of the stars they were seeing were likely far different from any they would see on the Core planet.

“I hope you know that I’m not angry with you at all for what happened on Nar Shaddaa,” Master Windu finally spoke.

Anakin looked away, emotion coming over him. “Because you’re the perfect Jedi who releases his feelings to the Force?” He asked, a bit bitterly. Nar Shaddaa was still a sore subject.

“Because it was I who let you down. I should have done more for you as a Master, then,” Windu said, firmly.

The bitterness washed away, as easily as the chai tea from before. Anakin turned to face Master Windu, guilt rising in himself. If anything, Anakin had let Windu down.

“You know, I used to wish that Obi-Wan had become my Master,” he said. “But now I think I wouldn’t have wanted any other Master but you, Master Windu.”

Windu studied him, eyes unreadable but not reproachful. He settled on sighing. For once, it didn’t sound like a world-weary curse but a simple exhalation. 

“Thank you, Anakin. For what it’s worth, I choose you as a Padawan because I doubted you. I’m pleased to say you’ve proven me wrong in many ways.”

“Except Dejarik,” Anakin teased. 

Windu’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Well, I have to have something to teach you, don’t I?”

They fell into a comfortable silence. 

Anakin sighed, the smell of smoke from the homestead wafting over. It had been surprisingly nice to visit Tatooine. Anakin basked in the feeling of warmth, full with his mom’s cooking and content. His mom was happy and . . . Anakin was okay with that not necessarily including him. Anakin’s place now lay at the Jedi Temple, beside Master Windu.

But this feeling, right now, with the cold desert night beginning to set in but the warmth of the day still seeping from beneath them, the sounds of life beginning to emerge around them . . .

Anakin smiled at even Windu relaxing, watching the stars reveal themselves above.

This feeling was his home.

* * *

On the other side of the galaxy, another pair also stared contentedly up at the stars. Some were similar, some the same, they burned with a fervor that made one forget that some of them were mere echoes of events lightyears away.

Even so, Obi-Wan found it difficult to focus on the light show when he could practically feel Satine’s happiness suffusing through him. How much change a positive emotion made through their bond.

Somehow, Satine didn’t notice his rather indiscreet glances. There was a thoughtful look on her face that seemed to transpose her to the stars. She would fit among them, Obi-Wan mused. Force, being with Satine— the thought still sent a giddy rush through him— had turned him into a sentimental fool.

He could get used to this.

Satine shifted beside him. “Do you think there’s any truth in the legends? With the ancestors being in the stars?”

Obi-Wan dragged his eyes up, looking at the cloudless sky. “Perhaps.”

There were times when he would feel the warmth of a supporting hand against his shoulder, the way Qui-Gon once would. But no matter how quickly he turned, nothing would be there.

Satine’s voice was softer. “Do you think my father is watching? My mother?”

Obi-Wan stared at the sky a moment longer, the two moons gleaming beside a blanket of glowing stars. Hell, there were so many things out in the universe— he remembered the awe he had felt seeing even the Gungans’ underwater cities. Who was to say that there wasn’t a realm beyond death that could touch theirs, somewhere out in Wild Space?

“I really can’t say,” Obi-Wan shrugged. “But the Jedi believe the dead don’t leave us, but join with the cosmic Force. And if your parents are out there, they would be proud of you, I’m certain.”

Satine gave one of her softer smiles. Not the ones she wore to press conferences or council meetings— it was smaller, more subdued. But it was for Obi-Wan and that made the internal creation-of-the-universe feeling come back to him without them even touching.

One would think he would be used to it by now.

He shivered.

Satine frowned in concern, “are you cold?”

“I’m fine—” Before he could protest further, Satine wrapped her oversized shawl over the both of them, tucking them closer together. He briefly recalled all the other times they had embraced over the past months— an embarrassing amount of which featured tears from one or both of them. This was already proving the best embrace, then.

“There,” Satine said, satisfied with herself. “Now we’re both warm.”

“Thank you, love,” Obi-Wan resigned himself, privately pleased at the gesture.

Satine frowned, “hey, what’s wrong? Just because it doesn’t get this cold on Coruscant you don’t—”

“I’m not complaining! Thank you, really,” he said, laughter in his voice. Then, more soberly, “what did I do to deserve you?”

“You loved me,” Satine said cheekily. She reached up and pressed a kiss to his chin. “And you kept the beard.”

Obi-Wan grinned down at her, triumphant. “So you _do_ like it!”

Satine gave a noncommittal sigh and merely snuggled into his side. He scowled, “you can’t dodge questions like that.”

“We can discuss it another time.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and melted into the contact. Well, just this once. 

How strange— he’d been on Mandalore all these months under orders from the Jedi Council, but now he felt freer from the Council than he had . . . in his whole life. The life of a Jedi was marked by trials of spirit and character, all to prove oneself to the Council. 

But Obi-Wan found in his attachment to Satine, he didn’t feel guilty. He didn’t feel any of the things he had thought he was supposed to feel, growing up. The part of him that had torn itself asunder over the Code was silent, hidden to him and Obi-Wan didn’t particularly mourn it. Because he realized people, particularly Satine, weren’t just trials to be passed and moved on from. To think of Satine in such a way was as to look at the stars and demand that they weren’t burning spheres of gas— it was to blaspheme the very laws of the universe. 

Obi-Wan didn’t think he would ever move on from Satine.

But if Satine Kryze _was_ some sort of trial, he was content to prove himself day after day until the stars themselves burned out.

“ _F_ _ine_ ,” Obi-Wan huffed teasingly, “we can discuss my beard, _later_.”

Satine grinned, “good.”

He smiled back, fondly. Well, if this wasn't love, it was pretty damn close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS DONE! Thank you all sm for reading!! It was your comments and kudos that gave me the energy to finish this (my most ambitious fic to date).
> 
> Firstly- the reason why Anakin and Obi-Wan don’t really meet physically even at the end of this fic bc I know some of you were looking forward to that: I felt that there was no excuse plot-wise to have them meet. Also, in this AU Anakin doesn’t really know Obi-Wan /that/ well so,, sorry y'all. I’m planning on a CW era sequel that will have them hanging more in person but this fic was more establishing their original arcs!
> 
> Second- speaking of a sequel, I /am/ working on one, but it'll be awhile before it debuts! Work has started again for me so I no longer have days to burn writing, but I'll try my best :,)
> 
> Thank y'all again for all the support for this lil fic. It means a lot!
> 
> \- ninefish

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!  
> come scream w me on twitter or tumble @syoemei


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